Conspiracies: The Real Causes of Thalion Estel's Difficulties
by Thalion Estel
Summary: Sauron may have been defeated, but his works of evil are not finished. In an attempt to mar all that is good, he sends his servants on a very important mission, one which will change the course of human history. Thalion Estel—that troublesome fanfiction writer—must be dealt with. And to produce an abundance of doom, no setting could be more perfect than college itself. COMPLETE.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: Hello, my dear readers! This composition is based off real events that have happened to me and those foolish enough to be acquainted with me during my college life so far (with the secret Middle-earth causes of my problems being revealed). I have a few of these tales already written, which I will be posting shortly, but I will continue to write more of them in my spare time as more things happen to me. *cringes* All stories will stand more or less on their own unless otherwise noted. Here's the prologue; I hope you enjoy, and don't forget to review!**

 **. . .**

"My lord," the orc stammered before its master, cowering back a bit. "My lord; the target is gone."

"What?" Sauron's voice boomed, resounding through the halls of Barad-dûr. "What do you mean 'gone'?" the Dark Lord demanded of his servant.

The orc quailed again, but then straightened and did its best to deliver its information. "The spies you sent to assassinate the pathetic mortal authoress located her dwelling, but they soon discovered that she no longer lived there."

"Is that all the news you have?" Sauron asked, his tone more calculated but no less dangerous than before. "Is there any trace to the writer scum?"

"Yes," the orc croaked in its coarse voice. "The spies believe they have located the place she now resides, and they are tracking her now."

"Where is this place?"

The orc grinned evilly, as they are so apt to do. "Florida, my lord. She has gone off to college."

The Dark Lord gave a smile of his own, one far more evil and powerful than that of his slave, though since he lacked the ability to take physical form, the mind-blowingly wicked grin was lost on the orc.

"Send a group to her location," Sauron ordered. "However, I want them to change their directive. Put the assassination on hold; this opportunity is too profitable to be wasted."

"Opportunity for what?" the orc meekly inquired.

The Dark Lord repeated his evil grin, and again it was not detectable to the orc. "You know nothing of the modern world. When in college, it takes very little to make one lose his mind. Thalion Estel need not die when we can drive her over the edge of reason and into the oblivion of insanity."

The orc nodded and scurried off to carry out the order, laughing in its broken, disgusting way as it imagined how this order from Sauron would be carried out.

 **. . .**

 **The board is set, and the pieces are moving! Do you guys think I will survive the coming attacks?!**


	2. The Peanut Butter Jar of Doom

**Author's Note: So it begins. I hope you like this first installment; be sure to give me some feedback. It'll help me stay sane!**

 **. . .**

The composition of the orc-infiltration-and-induce-insanity team was simple. Three dispensable orcs had been selected for the mission and given the proper tools and code names to complete it. This small company, containing Snaga 1, Snaga 2, and Snaga 3, was ready to make Thalion Estel's life miserable.

"Come on, filthy scum!" Snaga 2 called to the other orcs as they jogged down an apartment sidewalk. "That worthless writer will be back here in ten minutes; the trap must be set before she returns."

"Curse the writer and curse this weather!" Snaga 1 snarled as he hurried to catch up. "I hate this place."

"Better than Mordor," Snaga 3 said from behind as the three orcs approached the proper building.

"Thanks for the optimism," Snaga 2 growled sarcastically. "Now enough with the chatting; we've got to get into the building and do our job."

"And just how are we going to do that?" Snaga 1 retorted. "Do you just happen to have a key in your pocket?"

Snaga 2 had apparently not considered this problem, but he just snarled and ran ahead of his companions up the stairs and to the appropriate door. His misshapen, disgusting hand griped the door handle and tried it, being surprisingly rewarded as the door swung open. And that, dear readers, is why you always lock your apartment. _Always_.

The orcs shuffled into the small apartment and immediately went to work. Snaga 1 made a copy of a key so that they could come back whenever they needed to. Snaga 3 examined the kitchen carefully, looking for weakness that the team of orcs could exploit. It was a pretty tiny area for six roommate to share, with only a narrow pantry, a few feet of counter space, and small refrigerator. The orc grinned as his mind worked out several evil things he could do with this setting. Meanwhile, Snaga 2 went through each of the bedrooms, searching for the one in which the writer lived. It didn't take much for him to figure out that Estel was settled in the room that had a wall covered in Texas Rangers merchandise, not to mention all the shirts in the closet and knick-knacks on the desk with the same team's logo. He took note of any detail he thought important before heading back into the living space to consult with the other orcs.

"What are we going to do here?" Snaga 1 asked, pointing an accusing finger at Snaga 2. "What happened to hurrying?"

"We have many possibilities," Snaga 2 replied, "but no time to rig up something complicated. For now, we will start with something simple and work up from there as time goes by."

"Get on with it!" Snaga 3 demanded.

"Bring out the Peanut Butter Jar of Doom!" Snaga 2 ordered with a hint of dramatic flair, gesturing to Snaga 1's small pack.

"But you said we should begin with something small," Snaga 1 protested as he slung the bag off his shoulder and shoved it roughly at Snaga 2. "This could drive her to insanity in one fell blow!"

Snaga 2 shrugged, ripping the pack away from Snaga 1 and pulling out a normal-looking jar of peanut butter from the sack's frayed burlap top. "Then we won't have to stay in this blasted place any longer. Besides, this is not a guaranteed hit; that's why we'll use it first. Later, we'll bring more personally aimed attacks against her."

Snaga 2 took the Peanut Butter Jar of Doom and made room for it to perch on the middle shelf of the pantry. His face twisted into a cruel expression of glee just as the sound of a car pulling into the parking lot outside came to his orc ears.

"That's one of them!" he exclaimed, rushing out of the kitchen and towards the door. "Out, you filthy maggots!"

The three orcs rushed out the door, slamming it shut behind them and running down the hallway just before a girl mounted the staircase to enter her apartment, wondering why there were stomping feet so close and why the doorknob seemed to be covered in grime. But being unsuspicious, she simply shrugged off these things and went into her apartment, closing the door behind her.

This girl, the very writer who was under the sanity-attack, did not discover the fruit of the orc's plot right away. And indeed, it failed to deal her the deadly blow that was intended. Unfortunately, it did issue its destruction eventually . . . on the wrong person.

Estel knew something was wrong several days later when she heard someone cry out from the kitchen. Slamming her book closed and rising from her most-used reading place—her bed—she opened her door and quickly rushed down the small hallway and into the open. Standing beside the pantry was one of her roommates, an expression of pain written on her face.

"What happened; are you alright?" Thalion inquired with concern.

Estel's companion gasped and grabbed at her foot, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. "I'll be okay. That peanut butter jar fell on my toe!"

Estel rounded the counter and examined the wound, which actually did appear fairly severe. However, the girl could still walk on the foot, so at least nothing was broken.

"So sorry about that," Thalion said, setting the jar of peanut butter back onto the shelf. "I guess the tub must have slipped off or something."

The roommate nodded and limped back into the room she and Estel shared, though it did not seem that the pain inflicted by the jar had faded in the slightest. Thalion's silly little brain was simply too distracted to suspect foul play in the incident, but even her dull mind soon realized that something strange was going on with the peanut butter.

Although there were no more injuries, the number of times the peanut butter jar fell near someone's feet grew as quickly as the bruise on the foot of Estel's roommate. After it had happened six or seven times, Thalion finally wised up and buried the jar deep inside the pantry behind the other random food items.

Her sanity was still intact, but the Peanut Butter Jar of Doom had done part of its work, and now her mind's defenses against insanity were greatly weakened. The orcs were gaining ground on their objective.

 **. . .**

 **I hope you liked the first chapter! This may have been only a small attack, but I can promise you that things are about to escalate a lot—to my worst nightmare. Stay tuned, and please review! Have any of you ever had to deal with something like the Peanut Butter Jar of Doom before?**


	3. Close Encounters of a Roach Kind

**Author's Note: I decided to not leave you guys with just the Peanut Butter Jar of Doom, so I'm also posting this chapter today. It's part of a rare two-chapter story, so more on this subject will be coming. This is one of my favorite compositions ever, and yet also one of the most horrific. It comes from the depths of my writer-soul. I hope you enjoy it (as much as one can enjoy a story that contains the likes of…** _ **roaches**_ **).**

 **. . .**

Snaga 3 was the unfortunate orc who had drawn the short straw and now had to lug around the precious cargo. Precious in that it would be their next form of attack in their ongoing mission to drive Estel insane. In all other ways, the contents of the wooden box were everything except precious.

"Get your lousy hide over here," Snaga 2 demanded roughly as they approached the apartment.

"You want this in a hurry," Snaga 3 retorted angrily, "then you do it yourself".

"Stop your yapping," Snaga 1 yelled at his companions. "Someone'll hear you."

It was true; the apartment was certainly not empty this time. Several cars were parked outside, and high-pitched giggling emanated from the apartment rooms where Estel and her friends dwelt. Snaga 3 reached the bottom of the staircase and slammed down his box ungracefully, huffing in ragged breaths and wiping away sweat. Even though the sun was down, it was still hot.

"Why didn't we come in the day time?" Snaga 3 asked the others furiously. "How are we supposed to do anything with those wretched students being inside the apartment?"

"We couldn't come in the day, moron," Snaga 2 replied with an eye roll. "That writer-scum has been here the whole day."

"What does she do, anyway?" Snaga 1 pondered. "Sleep? It's not like college is hard."

"Shut up!" Snaga 3 shouted before quieting his voice, furtively glancing around to make sure he had not drawn attention to himself. "No more talking; we'll just dump the box beside their door; I'm sure its contents will get into their apartment without any more help from us."

The orcs did just that, hauling the box to Estel's doorstep and plopping it down. Snaga 1 took out his dagger nervously, poising it above the wooden container but hesitating to create a breach. Despite his innate evil, the orc felt what his race could hardly feel—afraid. The evil contained in that box was beyond description, containment, or reason. The only thing that made Snaga 1 able to finally punch a hole in the wood was his greater fear of Sauron's wrath. As soon as the break was made, the three orcs jumped back and sprinted out of the apartment, not wanting to stick around and see the beasts emerge.

For a proper understanding of what followed, a brief history of the dreaded contents of the box is needed. In Elder Days, when the Dark Lord Morgoth took the Elves and corrupted them into orcs, he was quite pleased with the manner in which he had marred Eru's creation. This success prompted him to breed a far more evil creature, one that he spent many years laboring over in the darkest pits of Angband, his fortress.

The result was a physical incarnation of pure wickedness—the absolute negative of all that is good or pure or joyful. Having taken a fair little butterfly, Morgoth put it through countless tortures and changes, pouring into it the darkest evil of his soul until at last the species was complete. This monster was designed not to destroy good through force of strength, but rather through sheer terror and presence of impenetrable darkness, possessing an atmosphere of evil that was enough to make even the Nazgûl seem cheery in comparison. When the breed was ready, Morgoth released the creatures from his fortress to plague his enemies, and to this day, the beasts are the best weapons against light and good.

Of old, these monsters were called the Ulqui, from which the Elves derived the word and concept of evil. But in the Common Tongue, the creatures were named cockroaches, a term that causes the strongest of hearts to fail and the bravest of warriors to shrink back in horror. After the fall of Morgoth, Sauron took the roaches which had survived the War of Wrath (which was most of them since even nukes are useless against them) and bred the terrible race in Mordor. It was these miserably creatures that the orcs had just released into Estel's apartment, and the menaces were soon crawling out of the box and underneath the door.

The first encounter Estel had with the fiends occurred after the girls had invited some people over to study. When the last guest left, three of the roommates were sitting silently in the living room, contemplating the night's events. Thalion was among them, seated at the table without any real purpose. It was then that she saw It sitting still above the front door.

It was a massive, grotesque creature, far bigger than any roach Estel had ever laid eyes upon. It stared with evil, dead eyes at the room, no doubt contemplating its best course of action to wreak total destruction. A dark sense of dread fell on the room as its presence settled in, and Thalion's mouth fell open.

"Guys," she said slowly, never taking her gaze from the horrific creature. "Um, there's a huge roach above the door."

All people expresses themselves differently. For some reason, Estel almost never made noise when she felt distress or surprise. She usually gasped and slapped her hand against her mouth, which of course didn't make any sense since she didn't scream. Her eyes would get wide and her heart would race, but unless you could actually see her face, you would not have known she was startled.

But several of Thalion's roommates were not like her in that regard. For them, the more noise one made, the more convincing her emotion was. Whether it was glee, surprise, fear, lack of sleep, or pretty much any other feeling, they usually let everyone know via a loud and piercing cry. This squealing was typically hard to decipher so that from her bedroom, Estel was never sure when she heard it what emotion was being conveyed. This time, however, the scream that resounded throughout the entire apartment complex could not have been mistaken for anything except sheer horror.

The yelling lasted for only about ten or fifteen seconds, shorter than normal, before it was realized that this form of communication would not rid the room of the dreaded beast. In fact, Thalion suspected that in a way similar to the Pixar movie Monsters Inc., roaches probably gained their energy from screams of fear. The creature continued to stare at its soon-to-be victims, giving such a cold look that Estel nearly fainted.

"The Raid," she finally managed to mumble in a shaky voice. "Get the Raid!"

Now, of course you are probably asking why she would say that rather than do it herself. It is a fair inquiry, and indeed it is what she should have done. But our dear little Thalion suffers severely from cockroachaphobia, so the normal fear of the beasts that is ingrained in every human being is especially amplified in her. So rather than springing into action, she merely remained transfixed in her chair, hoping that someone in the room was a better warrior against insects than she was.

By the grace of the Valar, that was the case. One of the two others in the room scurried to the counter where the said repellant stood ready for action. It was the only weapon developed by those who oppose darkness that could actually have any effect on the terrible roaches. Legend said that Celebrimbor had designed it long ago using the best skill he possessed, something which has won him undying praise and honor among all peoples. Taking this mighty weapon in hand, the brave girl came within seven or eight feet of the front door, aimed her shaking hand at the foe, and let out a last breath to dispel her nausea.

Estel prayed that Eru would have mercy on them all and speed the Raid at the roach with all power and accuracy. The girls all dramatically held their breath as the one with the Raid pushed her finger onto the button and unleashed the spray of fumes at the spawn of evil, letting out a scream as she did so for good measure.

Eru granted Thalion's prayer, and the spray of mist struck the creature and soaked it. But roaches are not known to die quickly, no matter what weapon one uses against them. The foul creature scurried in very evil and creepy fashion down the door and onto the floor, charging its attacker with the intent to slaughter her and everyone else in the room before the poison could take effect.

But the girl had not stopped spraying (or screaming), and the Raid—thank the Valar!—ate away at the roaches' evil members, causing it to literally gasp in pain. Audibly. The evil thing actually made _noise_! Its raspy death cries seemed to resound not only in the room, but in the hearts of the girls present.

Estel's roommate, that faithful saint, kept spraying even when the roach had lost the power to move forward. The beast writhed as pain enflamed all of its being before at last rolling over on its back in defeat, its wicked legs curled up in the air. The darkness that had hung over the room abated in part, though while the beasts' body remained, its presence lingered in the memory of the traumatized girls.

Finally, the screaming stopped, though for good measure, the girl kept spraying the body until there was a nice puddle of Raid on the floor. The three girls continued breathing hard as they attempted to recover from the ordeal, but Thalion was pretty sure she would need counseling after this. To attempt to lighten the mood, the girls resorted to joking, the only means left of coping. In the following day, Estel even wrote a eulogy to make fun of the beast.

Oh, what was she thinking?

 **. . .**

 **Unfortunately, as I said earlier, I am not done with roaches. *tries to keep lunch in her stomach* They will appear in the next chapter when I have the time to post it. Please be sure to review! I hate to even ask…but have any of you guys ever had to deal with the evil that is cockroaches?**


	4. The Roaches Strike Back

**Author's Note: And here is the rest of the-*swallows hard*-roach story. I hope you find some hope amid the darkness of this attack. Perhaps it will aid you just in case you should ever be caught in such dire circumstances! For the sake of your poor, traumatized writer, please be sure to leave me some feedback.**

 **. . .**

 _Of course_ the (now deceased) roach had friends who monitored Facebook, and while they were already plotting the writer's downfall, the mockery of their fallen comrade only made them all the more eager to ruin Thalion's existence. The next attack was plotted and put into action while Estel was still in shock from the first (and while the body of the dead roach still remained on the floor, none of the apartment's occupants having the guts to remove it, as sad as that is).

The first creature had been very big; there is no denying it. But it was like the Mr. T of cockroaches. The next one was more like the Fezzik or Goliath of cockroaches. The monster could have easily swallowed a cow whole, and it left Estel wondering afterwards how it had even gotten through the door to the apartment in the first place. It somehow hid behind the couch during the night and simply waited for Thalion to emerge in the morning, thinking thoughts of bloodshed and darkness.

When Estel did appear in the morning, she was she always is—sleep deprived. The sun wasn't even up, but she still had to hurry and get ready for class. However, her drooping eyelids made her already bad eyesight even worse, and so it was that she didn't notice anything amiss while she went into the kitchen to get her coffee. She even sat down beside the couch as she drank her caffeine, unaware that death was stalking directly behind her.

It was not until another of her roommates came into the area that Thalion was made aware of her peril. The writer's companion gasped, pointed to the wall just behind the couch, and let Estel know something was amiss with an exceedingly scary yet quiet statement.

"That is _huge_."

Thalion slowly turned around, following her roommate's gaze. When she saw it, she sprang from her seat, her heart threatening to go on strike, and backed away to the other side of the room, on the very verge of insanity as she thought about the fate she had just narrowly escaped. But then again, she hadn't escaped anything; the horror was still there.

Estel didn't say anything this time; no words could be formed in her now parched mouth. But fortunately her roommate still possessed the ability to speak, and she quickly went to find her older sister, one who had lived in this area long enough to have dealt with the likes of roaches before. This courageous soul took up the Raid of faith and went into action, shooting a stream of the blessed weapon at the horrible monster.

This roach proved far more strong and fierce than its fallen kin, and it was not seriously daunted as the Raid struck his body and made its form sizzle. The evil creature quickly and creepily crawled across the wall, around the corner, and above the blinds of the sliding balcony door. Still, Thalion's roommate fired her weapon, continuing to hit the fiend, but it refused to be stopped. In a horrific show of strength fed by unspeakable wickedness, the beast leapt at its attacker, flying through the air like a bullet.

Again, the providence of Eru saved the lives of the apartment's occupants. The blinds barred the roach's path, and it fell behind them to the carpet rather than latching onto its assailant's throat, which had no doubt been its intention. But even the fall was not enough to injure the creature. It zoomed across the carpet and leapt onto the coffee table, hoping to use the higher ground as a platform for counterattack. But the Raid was still streaming from the canister, and now it finally penetrated the beast's cloak of darkness and caused a searing pain to halt the roach's intentions.

Screams echoed through the air as the roach tried to make up its mind—finish the attack but be slain in the process or hide and live to fight another day. Despite its intense desire for revenge, it knew that the hopes of its species rested in its evil hands, and if it healed, it could try again with more chance of success. So in shame and anger, the beast jumped to the couch and then let its inner darkness encircle it, making it invisible to mortal eyes. The screams stopped and the room became eerily quiet. The sense of foreboding did not disappear with the roach.

Even as Estel writes this, the roach is still at large. At first, Thalion believed (whether from facts or hopes remains uncertain) that the fiend had crawled under the coach and there died of its wounds. But no one in the apartment was able to confirm this as none of them wanted the task of looking. By the time they did at last attempt to locate it, they found that it was truly gone. Estel thinks that it still lives somewhere in the deep, dark corners of the apartment, stalking her every move and waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

Though of course there may be other roach invasions in the future, their part in this chapter of the tale is almost ended. But there was one more blow dealt to Estel's already weak sanity, and this one perhaps the worst of all.

It happened that the writer was moving some plastic grocery bags from their place beside the wall and her desk, hoping to tidy up a little. Audience, please take note that this scene occurred _in_ Thalion's room. Literally _five feet_ from the bed where she sleeps. When the bags were removed, the most horrifying sight in history greeted the eyes of Estel. Nothing has ever shocked and frightened her so much, nor has anything ever made her more seriously contemplate jumping out of her two-story window. There, beside the wall, was a cockroach.

But this was no ordinary cockroach. It was not as large in size as the two former enemies, but had it been as big as a car, it would not have been worse. It was in the crouching position, just like a lion ready to spring. But it had the biggest roach-eyes anyone has ever seen, and they were staring not only into Estel's soul, but were actively sowing darkness and doubt into her being.

It was dead, and that only made it worse.

Though she is slightly ashamed to say it, Thalion was ready to cry and scream at the inhumaneness that was this creature. Not only was it in existence—already an insult to joy and goodness—but it was in her room. She would never sleep in peace again. Even worse than all this, it was now solely her responsibility to take care of it. She wondered if she would be able to do that at all without throwing up.

But although this is a story of great woe, it does have a glimmering star, for Estel learned that day a courage she had never shown before. Her limbs were shaking and her brow was beaded with sweat, but she took heart and departed from the room to get the Raid. Yes, the beast was dead, but since when did that stop roaches?

When she had retrieved the precious weapon, she stood several yards away and completely soaked the corpse, the wall, the carpet, and anything within the vicinity. She then sprayed all the walls in the room for good measure, as the weapon's canister did say it would make a shield against further attacks. When that was done, she got the broom and dustpan along with some plastic bags and did the most courageous thing that has probably ever occurred in the state of Florida.

Standing very far away, only holding the very top of the broom with the ends of her fingers, Estel scooted the bug into the open. Several times she suddenly jumped back in fear, dropping her tools and having to start again. But at last, she had moved the monster beside the dustpan. Then came the worst predicament of all: the body got stuck to the bristles of the broom.

On the verge of tears, Thalion shook the broom, never ceasing to pray for mercy. At long last, the body fell onto the dustpan, and Estel gave a sigh of relief. But now she had the even harder task of grabbing the dust pan's handle, which was only inches away from the roach itself. In a moment of such stress and terror that she can hardly recall it today, Estel took the pan and dumped its contents into the bag. She quickly tied this bag shut and then sealed it into another bag, taking the whole contraption of darkness to the kitchen trash. Then she went back to her room, put on about ten ounces of hand sanitizer, and waited a few hours for the shaking to stop.

But she trusted nothing after that; no closet, no pantry, and not even her bed. Her sanity was literally a tiny cockroach's length from the cliff's edge.

May all cockroaches be cast forever into the Void.

 **. . .**

 ***Shudders* Well, that's the last of the roaches, at least for the time being. If for some reason I suddenly never update again, it's probably because the roaches came back and did drive me completely insane. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter! More installments should be on the way sometime soon.**


	5. The Orcs Go to College

**Author's Note: So guess what happened to me only a few hours after I posted the previous update about roaches. Yep, we saw another one. In fact, it was only a foot from my bed where I was peacefully sleeping, and had it not been for my valiant roommate, it surely would have slain my sanity right there and then. It is currently trapped underneath a plunger in the bathroom (no, I don't know when we'll deal with it). I don't think I'll write that one into a chapter since the battle was technically that of my roomie, but it very well could have ended me. Anyway, here's the tale of Finals; I hope you all can relate (or do I?). Be sure to review!**

 **. . .**

You know, the orcs didn't even need to contribute to Finals week; that alone would have probably been too much for poor Estel. However, orcs are not moved to pity, even when the subject of their torment is as pathetic as the writer in question. So it was that they used their new best friend—the Internet—to find out where Thalion's college was. Then they plotted their most evil plan yet and put it into action.

When the last of Estel's amazing professors exited the school building for the day, Snaga 1 led his companions stealthily through the campus. Most of the doors were locked, but one of them had been left slightly ajar, and the orcs took advantage of the opening, desecrating the holy place with their filthy presence. They slunk through the halls, making lots of noise as they yelled at each other to be quiet. But the place was indeed empty, and no one was there to stop their plot.

"How do we know which professors teach the writer-scum?" Snaga 3 demanded.

"We don't," answered Snaga 2. "We'll just rig all of them."

Thalion wishes to here state how profusely sorry she is to all students in her college. Their Finals suffering is due to the attack aimed solely at her; maybe it's best if you just stay away from her at all costs. That would be the safest course of action, anyway.

So, the orcs went about their great work of evil. Going into every professor's office, the horrible servants of Sauron hacked into all the computers and pulled up the test review documents. In order to keep their work from being noticed, they didn't add complete nonsense to the study guides. However, with the help of some lecture notes, the orcs tripled the size of the reviews, requiring students to spend three times the effort in filling them out and studying them.

"This'll drive her crazy for sure," Snaga 1 said with an evil grin as he added the fortieth question to the Biblical Theology study guide. "And the teacher will only require her to answer three or four of these on the exam!"

Snaga 2 and 3 joined their companion as he saved the document and stood up. "Are they all ready?" he asked his comrades.

"Yes," Snaga 3 confirmed. "There's no way in Arda that she'll have time to complete all the stuff I added before the test."

"Not to mention that she will have to do it for five classes at once," Snaga 2 added, cackling cruelly. "Maybe we should come back here and change her grades, too."

Snaga 1 gave his own gargled laugh as he led his fellow orcs out of the building. "I doubt we'll need to."

As a matter of fact, Thalion partially dodged this attempt to make her insane. Of course, she should have utterly perished under the strain of these studies. And indeed, she only missed that crushing pressure by a narrow margin. But the orcs were not familiar with either the existence or power of memes, nor of Estel's ability to be insane by choice in desperate situations but then shove this away in public. So while she was crazy during that week, it was only an upgraded version of her normal insanity, not a clinical condition.

Prompted by funny memes from students and volunteering muses to assist with studying, Thalion lived up to her namesakes and completed the unbelievably difficult task before her, conquering her fears and her finals with surprising skill. She wasn't confident that her grades would all be perfect, but she was pretty sure that she would pass all her classes.

"I just don't understand why we had to do so many questions for one final!" the writer panted after coming back to the apartment and flopping down on her bed. "Now I can't do or think about anything except theology."

One of Thalion's roommates giggled knowingly. "Finals always leave a scar."

"Well, that's just swell," Estel answered with a groan. "I'm going to have do them so many more times! How ever will I manage it?"

And so came the Christmas break. Estel was eager to be home, and it never crossed her mind that all her troubles so far had been due to a band of orcs. If she had been at least slightly suspicious, she might have been more cautious and less optimistic. For as it turned out, the orcs found out about her success and decided to go through with Snaga 2's suggestion and change all her grades.

If the orcs had been unhindered in this endeavor, you can be assured that Thalion would have totally lost it and gone completely insane. But even though her feeble little mind was too simple to suspect anything, one of her most common muse visitors was not so dense. Aragorn knew more about orcs than any other man alive, and he could tell from Estel's life that evil was afoot.

So it was that he made it his business to protect Thalion's grades at all costs. For if she lost her head, who would write awesome stories featuring none other than the heir of Isildur? He stood on the balcony area at the back of the school, positioning himself so that the wind and moonlight gave him an appearance as regal as possible. This may not have been the most stealthy approach, but when the orcs arrived, they were not wise enough to look for witnesses.

"Hurry up," Snaga 1 growled. "This place gives me the creeps [a term that, for orcs, means something is so beautiful or holy that it goes completely against their nature]."

"Maybe we should burn it to the ground," Snaga 3 said. " _That_ would drive the foolish girl nuts for sure."

"And get the police on our tails?" Snaga 2 countered. "Thinking isn't your job or skill, so just shut your trap and come on."

The orcs' argument was then interrupted by the dramatically awesome sound of a sword being unsheathed. Quickly looking for the source, the slaves of Sauron soon spotted the figure who was now descending a staircase to the ground level, his cloak flapping behind him.

"Be gone, foul creatures," he declared with authority.

No orc would turn down a fight if they outnumbered the opponents on normal terms. But Anduril gleamed cold and dangerous in the night's darkness, and the fell face of the challenger was enough to make the orcs pull back in fear. Yes, they had a mission to accomplish, but they could finish it just as easily with a different plot. And Sauron would never know they had run so long as none of them died on the way out.

So it was that the orcs, though issuing cries of anger and hatred, fled away from the scene. Aragorn chased them from the building, past a parking lot, and into the woods where the servants of darkness disappeared. The ranger, for which Estel is exceedingly grateful, remained vigilant around the campus for a good while after the orcs had left. However, he did not encounter them again.

They had decided to pursue the writer to Texas.

 **. . .**

 **Thank the Valar for muses! So my first semester ended on a fairly high note, despite all the craziness that occurred therein. I have one more story/chapter that's finished, and then I'll be caught up to the present. And then…only Eru knows. Please leave me some feedback; I could use some reviews while I'm recovering from the cockroach encounter.**


	6. Going Green—and Almost Insane

**Author's Note: Okay, I think we're caught up now. This story, like all the other ones, is the fruit of misery. But I'm just glad it's in the past…and it has definitely taught me a lesson. I hope you guys find a bit of joy amid my sorrow, if that's possible.**

 **. . .**

Estel knows exactly what poison ivy looks like, both the leaf and the rash. She has endured its effects of agony several times, all instances in which she had heedlessly wandered through the green forests of a Texas summer. Now she was in a park that was grey and bare, feeling the cool of December descend on its trees and shrubs.

Thalion was careful to look for poison ivy, but she didn't see a single leaf. Oh, how foolish she was, to think that just because there weren't any visible plants, orcs had not already rigged the place for a terrible disaster. Had she been there about two or three hours earlier, she would have seen a strange sight.

. . .

"How many of these trees do we need to spray?" grumbled Snaga 3, who had nearly run out of the contents of his can of compressed madness, otherwise known as poison ivy oil.

"Just keep going, you maggot," snapped Snaga 1. "There's no knowing where that writer will venture."

"Who would walk by the woods for no reason?" Snaga 2 asked. "This is a stupid idea."

"Exactly," Snaga 1 retorted. "A stupid idea for a stupid target. That writer does pointless things all day long; why should she suddenly wise up today?"

Snaga 2 seemed to see the logic here, never one to doubt the patheticness of the human they had been plaguing for months. The orcs continued to douse the entire park in the deadly oil, glad for once that their thick and nasty skin was immune to its effects.

Poison ivy has a similar origins story to that of cockroaches. Morgoth, while on his marring-creation spree, took the blood of a balrog that had been exposed to severe radiation and fused it with a plant. The effects of this plant could be elaborated upon here, but soon they will be manifest in Estel anyway. Besides, Thalion has no desire to make her readers lose their lunch over a silly story.

So it was that the park was practically dripping with poison ivy oil, and the orcs scurried away just before the writer and her family arrived. As they had predicted, the less-than-wise college student plunged happily into the tiny adventure that was a few trees beside a creek. She saw no poison ivy leaves, and she had never gotten the accursed rash in the winter time. As often happens, that sense of security turned out to be a groundless façade.

It wasn't until she was sitting in a movie theater the next day, watching Star Wars, that Thalion felt a little itch on her right arm. She absentmindedly scratched it (and readers, this is where you must realize that such behavior is **absolutely forbidden to anyone who has been in the woods lately** ) and then thought nothing more of it. For a few more minutes.

The rest of the day was filled with occasional scratching, and in denial, the writer told herself that she must have run into a pack of mosquitos or something. After all, there were only a few bumps, and they were in one place. It simply could not be poison ivy, right?

Wrong. By Christmas day, as her sisters happily tore into their presents, Estel was focused solely on desperately trying not to scratch the rash that had spread all over her arm, in between her fingers on both hands, her neck, and face. In case you have never borne the agony that is poison ivy, it is the utmost form of physical torture ever concocted. You want to tear off your own flesh, but if you so much as touch it, you may just make your own lot worse.

The day after Christmas, when Estel went to spend the holiday with her cousins, she discovered something she had no previously known: you can get poison ivy on your lips. The poor writer really did look awful, her red and bulging skin making her face look deformed. Her very kind aunt tried to give her a hug, but Thalion sadly had to draw back to avoid physical contact.

"It's for your own safety," the writer explained, pointing to her face. "I have poison ivy."

"Oh," her aunt said, frowning. "I thought you just didn't want to hug me."

And so you see, readers, that not only does poison ivy make you so miserable that death actually appears like a vacation for your soul, but it also tries to undo familial ties. Of course Estel's family is stronger than most, so this little miscommunication was not the ending of happiness. Rather, Thalion tried her best to ignore the flames of pain and itchiness that flashed throughout her body as she held as many pleasant conversations as possible.

But no matter how much she pretended that the deadly oil was not depriving her of all comforts, she could not shove it from her consciousness. The insanity that was filling her mind was like an overflowing river pushing against a dam, and it was threatening to burst over at any second. Perhaps it would have done so and ruined the already fragile mind of the writer, but she survived through a few elements of grace in the form of absolutely delicious brisket, iced sugar cookies, and football. Yes, she had to eat extremely carefully (have you ever eaten without letting food or your tongue even touch your lips?), but the happiness of a content stomach and a preoccupation of watching sports kept her from going crazy.

In fact, she coined a perfect philosophical statement from the ordeal: poison ivy cannot ruin your Christmas, but at the same time, Christmas cannot un-ruin your poison ivy.

Two or three weeks after she had first gotten the rash, only ugly, red scars remained. Indeed, she had been blessed that the ordeal had not lasted longer or spread to her legs and stomach. However, she cursed Morgoth and poison ivy alike for the marring of her break, and she just hoped that nothing else would happen to her. After all, she needed the spring semester to go well.

But all things considered, that didn't seem likely to happen.

 **. . .**

 **Well, even though we're up to the present, I have an idea in the works that I hope to develop. But my spring break is looking more and more like a write-one-of-your-many-papers week instead, and I'm in the midst of midterms currently. So we'll see. In the meantime, be sure to leave me a review! Have any of you guys ever been cursed with the evil that is poison ivy?**


	7. The Malicious New Year's Resolution

**Author's Note: I finally managed to get this chapter together. Originally, it was going to be one long chapter with a whole bunch more tacked on the end, but then I divided it into two chapters. And that's good news, because that means more will be on the way soon. I hope you enjoy; don't forget to review!**

 **. . .**

Did you know that even the Dark Lord himself has New Year's Resolutions? Well, he does. And this year, he decided to step up his game against his least favorite writer in Arda. So it was that when the spring semester began for the poor little Estel, Sauron called the team of Snagas back to Barad-dûr to evaluate their tactics and determine a more efficient way to drive Thalion insane. The orcs nervously filed into the dark tower and stood before the throne of the invisible Sauron, waiting for instructions.

"I want you worthless slaves to stop wasting time and effort," the Dark Lord snapped at his servants, who cowered before him. "Why haven't your attacks been fruitful?"

None of the Snagas wanted to speak, but at last Snaga 1 stepped forward and answered for the group. "It's not that they haven't been fruitful, my lord," the orc growled. "It's that they won't push her quite over the edge. Some have been very close, though."

Sauron contemplated this a moment. "Which ones have caused her the most turmoil?" he demanded. "Perhaps we can replicate them enough times to make her lose her mind."

"We've broken the air conditioning on at least three separate occasions," the orc informed. "That might have become a bigger wear on her sanity except now the accursed apartment has put in a new unit that we haven't learned how to disable yet. However, that has not done the most damage. It seems that the most effective means have been those that do not involve her personally. For some reason, she seems to delight in caring about the fate of others."

The Dark Lord scoffed. "Such is the nature of my foolish enemies. But to what specifically do you refer?"

"Sports," Snaga 1 revealed with an evil grin. "She has specific teams that she cheers for, though she has no reason to whatsoever—she's never met any of the players. But the closest we ever came to making her lose it was one game with her favorite baseball team back in October. We commissioned some fans and players, and the result was a bat-flip that brought the wretched writer within a hair of insanity."

"Well, what stopped her?" yelled the Dark Lord in anger. "How could you manage to mangle that plan?"

Snaga 1 would have snarled at the insult, but he cared about remaining alive, so he kept swallowed his anger and reminded himself of how painful it would be to die via the burning wrath of Sauron. "A couple verses in Job and some nonsense about providence from one of her heroes."

The Dark Lord felt his spiritual veins run hot with spiritually flaming blood, making him spiritually very unsettled. The tower filled with the presence of his fury like a cloud of darkness, which is none too pleasant a situation for even orcs to endure. "Calvin?" he clarified.

"Yes, my lord," the orc answered. "He has ruined lots of our plans, that theologian scum."

"And since he's dead, we can't do anything to stop 'im," Snaga 2 dared to chip in.

Sauron continued to silently fume, ignoring the orcs who were now very anxious as they simply stood in their lord's presence. After all, it's not like they could see his expression and figure out what he was thinking. At last, the Dark Lord let out a sigh—the breath being like the opening of an oven containing extremely burned fish fillets—and made his decision.

"I want 2016 to be the year that Thalion Estel becomes a public disgrace of insanity," he stated firmly. "If sports has some effect on her, we will continue to use that opportunity. We will also continue our other plagues, but while we have this opportunity, we must use it."

"But my lord," Snaga 1 quietly interjected, "we have already knocked off 'er favorite team in her two favorite sports. How will smaller losses produce a larger result?"

Sauron rolled his eye and shook his invisible head. "You know nothing of these matters. Already from afar I can see the toll these failures are taking on Estel. She grows weary, and that is the perfect time to strike. We will simply continue to pound her with attacks until she cannot manage the load anymore. Her pathetic, mortal brain will collapse under the strain, and she will be the laughing stock of fanfiction writers."

"So who should we go after next?" Snaga 1 asked.

"I will not allow this opportunity to be squandered," Sauron affirmed darkly. "For this wave of offense, I will take matters into my own hands."

The orcs now became exceedingly nervous, but their master gave them no time to contemplate the sad prospect of being accompanied to work by the Dark Lord himself. Sauron instead began setting up his evil plots immediately.

"Snaga 1, get a list of all Estel's likes on Facebook," Sauron commanded methodically. "Go through them and bring me all those that are relevant to our cause. Snaga 2, send for my NFL ally. Tell him I need a guaranteed victory for his team, and he must use all means necessary to win; deflation will not be enough this time. Snaga 3, I want the full roster of Thalion's classes, all her favorite teams, and all the inhabitants of her county. Be sure to research specific background information about every person and animal, including potential blackmail or bribe opportunities."

The orcs, very dejected by the long list of new tasks, slunk into the shadows to go about their work. Sauron's disembodied spirit remained alone in the darkness, thinking evil thoughts about the pending insanity of Estel. She would not long survive the wave that was about to come upon her.

 **. . .**

 **Well, apparently there's a storm coming for me. *shivers* What did y'all think? Do any of you guys have any less-nefarious resolutions from New Years that you're still keeping up with? I'm just hoping Sauron will be like most of us and slack off on his…**

 **Also, a big thanks to ElvenRangerRysel, who graciously pointed out to that orcs do in fact have strong accents which my writing was not really showing. So I've slowly begun including the fruit of such accents in their dialogue, and that should continue in future chapters.**

 **P.S. Yes, I may or may not have done some teasing here of a certain quarterback. But I've teased my own quarterback in another story, and I'm sure the object of my comments in this chapter wouldn't be too bothered; he gets flack all the time, and usually it's far worse than anything I've said. Besides, this is just for fun, and no offense is intended. It was simply too perfect of an opportunity for me to pass by. :)**


	8. A Valiant Loss

**Author's Note: Hello again, readers! Things are super busy right now, but I managed to get this one edited. The next two chapters exist as abstract ideas floating around in my head (no, Plato, they are not Ideas), but with some massive academic hurtles looming before me, I don't know when I will get a chance to articulate them. Hopefully soon! In the meantime, please be sure to leave me some feedback! Reviews really are a great encouragement to me, a "pathetic mortal". :)**

 **. . .**

Estel sat on her bed, slipping on some socks as she prepared to welcome some fellow students into her apartment for their weekly time of Saturday night worship. But being the very diligent sports fan that she is, she quickly pulled up the gamecast for the Oklahoma Sooners' basketball game. She wasn't the biggest basketball fan ever, but the lack of baseball season was causing a void in her heart, and basketball helped to fill it. Plus she'd been a Sooners fan forever, always enjoying the opportunity to cheer for the university's teams, no matter the sport.

Of course she hadn't expected their football team's unfortunate and unforeseen loss at the end of the season a few weeks back; that had been a strange occurrence. After a long talk with Aragorn, she was beginning to suspect that some of her less-than-desirable circumstances might have some shady causes behind them, but that revelation didn't make her feel any better. She was no match for orcs, let alone Sauron.

Despite the fact that nothing should have surprised her at this point, she still let out a gasp of fright when the game's score loaded on her computer. Oklahoma's basketball team—ranked number 1 in the nation—was losing! Granted, it was not yet halftime, but they weren't putting up much of a fight at all. And she wasn't buying it.

"Finrod, get in here!" she called in desperation.

For those who are unfamiliar with Thalion's dear muse and friend, Finrod (who appears only by name in _The Lord of the Rings_ ), he is Galadriel's brother, and in the terms of the laymen, he's super awesome. He entered a few seconds after the writer's call, his blond hair seeming to shine from the reflected gleam of his intricately crafted armor. He did not wear his typical smile, for he knew from Estel's tone that something was amiss.

"What troubles you, Estel?" he inquired with concern.

"Look at this!" she exclaimed in exasperation, turning the screen to show Finrod the ongoing atrocity. The elf eyed the computer with a frown, seemingly in contemplation.

"And you think this is a result of interfering evil?" he asked, apparently not convinced of the implications.

Thalion nodded emphatically. "They're way better than to be losing like this!"

Finrod pondered the situation for a bit, but he seemed to see the logic of Estel's anxiety. "And what would you do about it?" the Noldo asked.

The writer gave a nervous chuckle, but she had to answer. "Well, I was thinking that maybe… _you_ should be the one to do something."

"What?" Finrod demanded, his frown growing. "Why me?"

"Because I have guests in the living room right now!" Estel said, gesturing to the door from which emanated the sound of conversation. "And besides, only one with such skill and experience as you could take on this evil. Remember how I'm a little, pathetic mortal?"

This finally produced a sly smile from the elf, who gave a small laugh. "Perhaps not too pathetic," he said, still grinning. Thalion gave a sigh, but she smiled with him.

"Please?" she begged. "At least check it out to see what's going on. You wouldn't want people to get hurt, right? Who knows what will happen next! Today it's a loss, tomorrow a nuke."

Now Finrod laughed out loud, a sound so hearty and merry that you can't really understand it unless you've been so blessed as to hear it. The writer—by necessity—joined in the laugh, but then an image of people in the living room hearing her and coming to investigate made her cease. She let out a long, slow breath and did her best sad face to Finrod, praying he would have pity.

It turns out that Finrod really does have a weakness for helping the helpless, especially pathetic mortals such as Estel. So, with an attempt to not appear overcome, the elf yielded.

"Fine," he answered. "But I feel like I should get a story out of this. Muses are not known to work for free."

Thalion felt her heart sink, but she would rather have happy muses and winning teams than sleep. "Can we negotiate? How about a chapter instead of a story?"

Finrod sighed, nodding reluctantly after a moment's consideration. "But it better be a good chapter. And make it extra-long, too."

"Now hurry up!" Estel begged, pointing to her screen again. "You don't have much time!"

. . .

"That's his excuse?" Sauron demanded in a booming voice that caused his orcs' ears to ring. "The football had too much air in it?"

Snaga 2 nodded. "That and he got sacked too many times."

Sauron cursed the useless quarterback under his breath. "He was no match for Manning in the first place," he mumbled.

Snaga 2 shifted on his disgusting feet. "My lord," he said nervously, "he still wants to be paid."

A dark, wicked laugh echoed from Sauron's unseen spirit. "As if New England doesn't pay him enough! No; if that scum can't win a simple playoff game, he won't receive anything. As if I would have paid him, even if he had been successful!"

"But what will we do now that one of that writer's teams is headed to the Super Bowl?" Snaga 3 meekly asked. "If Manning wins that game, her grief for all the other losses will be assuaged."

"We'll deal with that when it comes," Sauron answered. "Now we just need to focus on finishing off the top college basketball team."

The orcs obeyed, silencing any other questions and scurrying before the Dark Lord. The small troop had been hiding outside the stadium during halftime, but now it was time to reenter and secure a defeat for Oklahoma. So far, the plan of shooting players with tranquilizer darts and causing clouds of darkness to obscure the combatants' vision had proven largely effective. Granted, it's not that the other team needed lots of help; they were truly a good group of players. But there was a reason the Sooners were ranked number one, and thanks to the forces of evil, they weren't playing like it.

Yet just before the orcs and their master could sneak back into the crowd (a task which always required a veil of darkness since Sauron and his minions would have been slightly conspicuous, even among college students), they were confronted. A tall figure, gleaming softly in the night, held an unsheathed blade in his hand and barred the path. But when he beheld those who made to enter, his expression of confidence faltered slightly. It's not easy to stare down a Dark Lord, after all.

"You!" Sauron spat, recognizing the person immediately. "I would have thought you had learned your lesson last time—when I killed you!"

The elf regained a defiant stance, not giving back. "Technically, it wasn't you who slew me."

"That's right," the Dark Lord affirmed. "It was one of my dogs."

As you can imagine, Finrod wasn't thrilled with this comment. A deadly and dangerous anger flared in his bright elven eyes, and he took a commanding step towards the Dark Lord. Sauron felt a tiny sliver of cold fear in his heart, for although his body was technically not there, being a mere illusion or habitation of his presence, that didn't mean Finrod was utterly powerless against him. After all, the elf before him had died once and yet was now alive and well. And there was also the fact that great confusion surrounded the question of how muses exist ontologically, and that left open lots of options.

"Deal with the Sooners," Sauron ordered his slaves. "I'll end with this wretched Noldo—again—myself."

The Snagas were all too eager to obey their master's commands. Finrod, however, was not about to let them pass unchallenged. Just when the orcs thought that their foe's attention was fixed solely on Sauron, Finrod gave a cry and leapt at the servants of evil, sword flashing in the night. Snaga 2 fell dead after one stroke, and the other orcs shrieked as they fled. Finrod made to pursue them, but then a loud roar from Sauron and a strange force of an unseen blow sent the elf smashing into a nearby brick wall.

Estel has consulted many Sauron scholars in an attempt to understand just how his existence works. However, there are many complications with this study, especially when one considers that technically these are all the product of Thalion's creative muse and not objective realities. What the scholars have managed to conclude is that Sauron's spirit can, when his power is exerted, have an effect on the physical world. He can enter it on some dimension or other, making him vulnerable but powerful. And that is how he managed to engage Finrod in battle.

But the elf would not be so easily defeated. He quickly rose from the dust and charged the shadowy figure/spirit/other-sort-of-being, hoping that in this rematch, he might have the upper hand. Sauron was more frustrated by this glitch in his plan to defeat Oklahoma than afraid for his life, yet he could not wholly forget the struggle Finrod had put up so long ago, and thus he didn't take the fight lightly.

Much could probably be said of the battle that ensued outside that basketball stadium, but unfortunately, Estel doesn't know many of the details. All the facts she does have come from Finrod himself, who, as you may have guessed, survived. When he finally dragged his beaten and battered (though still very noble and valiant) form to Thalion's apartment to explain the reason he could not help Oklahoma win, he told her some key elements of the encounter.

"I performed my sworn oath to protect all that is good with great valor and skill," he informed her, fully engrossed in the telling of his tale. "I blocked blow after blow, my sword flaming forth with light older and brighter than that of the sun. Yet my wicked foe pressed on, intent on destroying me—the last hope of you, his target of destruction. The rest is too terrible for your young ears to hear, but rest assured that I did not let him reenter that building. At last, his spirit fled before me into the night to cower in fear."

"Uh huh," Estel agreed with half-sarcasm, doing a very stealthy eye roll. She didn't doubt Finrod's honor or courage, but he could be a tad dramatic. "Or maybe he left because the game ended and the Sooners got beat."

Finrod nodded sadly, huffing out a breath of defeat. "The two orcs who escaped must have had some success."

Thalion looked up from her bed, where she had retreated after that her guests were gone. Finrod really did look pretty sorry to have failed, and he could certainly use a good shower and maybe some band-aids. Estel gave her friend a sad smile, which the elf returned.

"Thanks for trying, though," she consoled. "And anyway, it's just sports—only a game."

Finrod chuckled quietly, shaking his head. "Tell that to Maglor."

Estel joined in the laugh, feeling very much not insane despite the sad loss of her no-longer-number-one team. And there was hope for them—they wouldn't go down in the rankings by too much. There was always a chance to come back.

"I'll make your chapter really awesome," she promised, pulling her laptop closer and searching for the right document in which to start typing. "This almost feels too sappy for my _Conspiracies_ story, though."

"Sappy?" cried Finrod in true surprise. "I'm coated in sweat and blood to protect your sanity, and you think it's sappy?"

Thalion shrugged. "It just feels like it ended too well."

"If I punched you right now, would that make for a better story?" Finrod asked, still exasperated. "You might not even have to ask me to do it."

"Okay, okay," the writer yielded. "I'll just add something unsavory to the ending, like a short scene from the evil side or something."

"How?" the elf inquired, raising one of his brows in curiosity. "It's not like you know what they're doing, right?"

. . .

Meanwhile, _completely_ unbeknownst to Estel and her companion, the orcs were trying to deal with their now depleted team.

"That Noldo scum!" grumbled Snaga 1 as he dragged the dead body of Snaga 2 to a dumpster near the stadium. "Now what are we supposed to do?"

"We'll get a replacement," Snaga 3 said, helping his comrade hoist the corpse into the trash. "I never liked this worthless maggot anyway."

"Yeah, but how long until we join 'im?" pointed out Snaga 1. "If that writer—" here the the orc spat on the ground in disgust, "—has an elf fighting on 'er side, this job could be the death of us."

Snaga 3 growled as he slammed the lid of the dumpster closed and faced Snaga 1. "We'll just have to hurry up and finish it," he said with a particularly evil grin.

 **. . .**

 **In case you didn't pick up on the hints, this occurred before the Super Bowl, so sometime in late January. Since then, the Snagas have ceased to leave my Sooners alone, but they have not utterly destroyed them yet. *looks nervous* I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Are my readers familiar with the valiant Finrod Felagund? He's one of my favorite Tolkien characters, and he really did deserve this chapter. Let me know what you thought of it!**


	9. Fear the Road Rage of Mordor

**Author's Note: It's taken me longer to get this out than I had hoped, but the distraction (a wonderful conference) was completely worth the delay. I hope to find a way to turn that experience into a chapter as well, though I won't make any promises. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this one; it was quite a bit of fun to compose.**

 **. . .**

As has been previously stated, Estel is not the kind of person who usually screams. But there are extremely rare cases, such as on roller coasters or when attending a sports game, when she will oblige. In the dark of night, as she drove home from her kind hosts' apartment where she had just finished watching the Super Bowl, she let her tongue loose.

Manning and his Broncos has done it! Against all she had been fearing, they had won the Super Bowl! Thalion didn't know when she would get a chance to soak in the glory of winning a championship again, so she let herself freely scream and cheer and pour out all the glories that come with victory. Little did she know that doom and darkness awaited her return.

. . .

The two new orcs who had been assigned to the Snaga team were not exactly all about teamwork. Right from the beginning, Snaga 1 and Snaga 3 had felt uneasy when Sauron had selected bigger orcs from another breed to accompany them, but as time had gone, relations had only gotten worse. And if the new orcs had successfully asserted their prowess in their code names alone, there was no knowing how fearsome they would be if squabbling came about.

"Hurry up, you worthless maggots," Snaga 6.023*10^23 demanded, increasing his jogging to an all-out run. Yes, the troop that this particular orc came from did dabble in chemistry from time to time.

"Shut up!" called Snaga 1, who was barely managing to keep up. "No one made you the boss."

"No one needs to," Snaga 299,792,458m/s retorted, passing the slower orcs and catching up with his kinsman. "You were bred to be lower, filthy scum!"

Snaga 1 and Snaga 3 didn't really appreciate this description of their kind, and they were more than tempted to catch up and drive their swords right through their companions' backs. But then they would have to bother Sauron about getting replacements again, and he might just snap and kill the lot of them, sending the Nazgûl to do the job instead. So it was that with a great show of restraint, the two original Snagas kept their murderous desires at bay, resort to quiet cursing under their breath.

Suddenly a gravelly, broken sound broke the night's silence, and Snaga 299,792,458m/s ripped a walky-talky out of his bag, holding it out so that the voice from the other end was clear. Unfortunately, Snaga 1 and Snaga 3 were too far back to hear what was going on, and so when they caught up, they had no idea what had been commanded.

"What's the message?" Snaga 3 panted, skidding to a halt beside the two new Snagas. "Do we go through with it?"

"Yes," growled Snaga 6.023*10^23. "Nothing could stop the Denver defense; that writer's probably bouncing off the walls."

"How could Sauron 'imself fail to stop a group of mortals?" asked Snaga 1 in exasperation. "He insisted 'e could handle it himself."

Snaga 299,792,458m/s shrugged. "It's not easy to be stealthy in the Super Bowl," he reminded. "The halftime show would be the only time his evil could be on the field unnoticed."

"It doesn't matter!" Snaga 6.023*10^23 yelled. "We just need to deal with things now. The writer's happy; we'll 'ave to fix that."

The orcs continued grumbling amongst themselves, but they all knew what they had to do. Without any other formal declaration, they continued on their way down the paths of Estel's apartment towards their objective. A few minutes later, they reached the designated parking spot and found their instrument of evil waiting there for them, causing all four orcs to grin with evil anticipation.

In truth, it was an object which would cause anyone with taste in automobiles to smile. Thalion still isn't sure what year it was from, but it was either from this year or last. It was a beautiful, pure-white, brand-new, fast-back Ford Mustang. It was sleek and awesome, causing Estel indescribable anxiety as she had to pull in next to it every day, always afraid she would scratch its flawless sides. The only mar on the car was the sticker for a certain less-than-admirable candidate slapped onto the back window, like pinning a cockroach body onto the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

The orcs looked at their vehicle of destruction (pun intended), and then after assuring that the coast was clear, they began the process of breaking into the car. This was not too hard considering they had raided a lock smith's store a few hours before, but it still caused a great deal of noise as they argued with one another. Finally, they managed to get the driver's door open.

"What do ya think you're doing?" demanded Snaga 3 angrily when he saw Snaga 6.023*10^23 climbing in behind the wheel. " _I'm_ the one who had the brains to open the cursed door. _I_ get to drive."

"You?" laughed Snaga 6.023*10^23, his cackling voice hitching on the disgustingness of his throat. "You couldn't pilot the runt of a warg litter, and you want to drive a car?"

Snaga 3, with Snaga 1 banding to his cause, remained stubborn and unyielding, his malformed hand reaching for the hilt at his belt. "Shut your yap or I'll stick you good," he threatened, however hollowly.

Things might have become violent among the orcs at that moment had not the sound running from one pair of mortally fashioned boots joined with another pair clearly of dwarven craft begun echoing down the sidewalk from several yards away. Glancing up, the orcs shrieked in surprise to see three figures closing in on their location at a solid run. To the sound of mortal boots belonged a tall man, to the pair of dwarven boots belonged a stout and strong dwarf, and to the silent shoes that no mortal can hear belonged a graceful elf.

"Get in!" yelled Snaga 299,792,458m/s to his companions, following his own warning by diving into the passenger seat as quickly as he could. The other orcs followed his example, resulting in both Snaga 3 and Snaga 6.023*10^23 cramming into the driver's side at the same moment. There was no time to argue, so amid cursing and squirming, the counterfeit key was jammed into the car and the engine roared to life.

The Three Hunters, however, reached the car before it could quite pull out of its parking spot. Aragorn tried to leap into the driver's seat, smashing the window and managing to grasp hold of the wheel. But since the seat was already more than full of orcs, he couldn't settle into the spot as he had hoped. He did keep himself on the car, half his body hanging out of the window as the car began speeding down the street. Legolas nimbly leapt atop the car's hood, effectively blocking the orcs' view of the road, though Aragorn was making their steering nearly impossible anyway. Just before it drove out of reach, Gimli imbedded his ax into the car's back, giving him a handle on which to cling.

So it was that the car, filled with four orcs and covered in three non-orcs, careened dangerously down the narrow streets of Estel's apartment. Aragorn's grip on the wheel was not stable by any means, causing the vehicle to swerve back and forth. However, the orcs still had enough control to generally steer towards their objective: the entrance where Estel would soon drive home. And even though this was not an ideal situation for the Snagas, it shouldn't keep them from accomplishing their mission.

A car wreck didn't need to be skillfully set up, after all.

But Aragorn knew much about the nature of orcs and their schemes, and that was why he went for the wheel. His body scraping against shards of the glass window, he tried to inch further into the car. Snaga 3 attempted to draw his blade, but he was so smashed against Snaga 6.023*10^23 that he couldn't get to it. He resorted to throwing blind punches, some of which found their mark. This only incurred the further wrath of the ranger, who could not let go of the wheel and thus resorted to using his head to smack the sense out of the orc.

Gimli inched up the back of the car, another ax in hand, until he had reached the window, which he proceeded to bash with his weapon. But Snaga 1, sitting in the tiny backseat, grabbed the ax head, though it cut his hands, and tried to use leverage to push Gimli off the car. Meanwhile, Legolas was busy looking as cool as he could, his hair dramatically streaming in the wind, watching for Thalion's approach.

Finally, headlights appeared from the apartment's entrance, and all seven combatants quickly looked up (except Legolas, of course) as the light shone on them. The two Snagas in the driver seat madly attempted to turn the wheel so that the car would slam into the oncoming writer, but Aragorn fought just as hard. With one last desperate effort, the ranger reached across the orcs as far as he could and pulled the wheel down so that it swerved hard to the right, just missing the front of Estel's vehicle, which had swerved the opposite direction and actually driven up on the curb.

" _Nan barad_!" Aragorn called in Sindarin, signaling for his companions to cease their attacks. This phrase wasn't very relevant to the actual action it initiated, but Legolas had suggested beforehand that they use code words from the movies, and after a forty-five minute argument between the said Elf and Gimli, the term had been agreed upon.

Just as the words left the ranger's mouth, the orc grappling with the ax head managed to smash Gimli in the forehead with the end of the weapon the Dwarf was holding, causing him to tumble off the car and fall hard onto the asphalt with a thud and plenty of groans. Legolas leapt from the hood in a manner harkening to elven grace (and overused CGI). Aragorn simply let the wheel go and pushed off the car so that when he rolled onto the road, he didn't get run over.

As soon as the heir of Isildur had released the wheel, the car swerved to the other side of the road since the orcs had still been pulling hard against Aragorn's force. With screams, curses, and howls of fear, the quartet of Snagas plowed straight into a palm tree, causing the hood to cringle and the airbags to fly out.

"A pale moon rises," Legolas said very eerily. "Cars have been wrecked this night."

"Thanks for that, Elf," Gimli growled in annoyance as he sat up from his collapsed heap. "You've been awfully movie-verse lately, you know that?"

"Are you both alright?" inquired the ranger, standing up and brushing his scraped arms free of dirt.

"I am unscathed," Legolas answered, finally walking over to help Gimli,

"Of course you are!" the dwarf growled as his friend dragged him to his feet. "You didn't do anything!"

"At least I didn't end up looking like a carcass," answered the Elf, putting on an expression of superiority with just a hint of jest visible in his shining eyes.

"What of the orcs?" Gimli said, changing the subject for his own sake but making a valid point.

Aragorn quickly jogged over to the destroyed vehicle, sword drawn, to inspect the wreck. But whether it was a blessing or curse, it was now empty. Distant footsteps could barely be heard running away, and the ranger didn't have it in him to make an attempt at pursuit. He'd already had enough orc-chasing for even an elven lifetime, not to mention his mortal one.

"They've fled," he informed his companions, looking over the demolished mustang with a sad sigh. "Now we've got to clean this up."

This was far easier said than done, and indeed it would have been impossible for Aragorn to have convinced the others to go about the task had not the circumstances been so favorable. Gimli, of course, is a master mechanic, and anything that the Dwarf excels at is always challenged by the Elf. So their competition spurred the job on quickly, and when at last their labor was complete, Gimli had proven the dwarves to be a skilled people. Even the owner would probably not know anything had ever happened, except perhaps that the vehicle was cleaner.

The Three Hunters drove the mustang back to its parking space at about midnight, very sorry that they had not been given the opportunity to _really_ drive it around. When it was carefully pulled into its place, Aragorn kindly suggested that they completely disrupt Estel's evening in order to get something from her to eat. The other heartily agreed, and hearing Thalion speaking on the phone in her outdoor balcony, they made their way up.

"…I just can't believe he would do that on national television!" Estel marveled to the person on the other line, oblivious to her new companions. "He looked like a toddler in the middle of a tantrum! The refs were totally right; there was no flag. He has entitlement issues, and—" the writer stopped, suddenly catching sight of the bright elven eyes of Legolas (which were definitely not designed for stealth) and having a mini heart attack. "Actually, can I call you back?" she tried to recover after a moment. "Yeah; okay. Bye."

As soon as the call was ended, Thalion gave her muses both a stern rebuke and warm welcome all at once. "What is it? Why are you interrupting me? Guys; Manning won the Super Bowl!"

"That is well," the ranger affirmed with a small nod. "Do you have anything for us to eat?"

The writer glared mildly. " _Well_? That's all you have to say about this: well?" I may as _well_ not give you any food!"

"We've earned it," demanded a very hungry Gimli. "We have labored all evening for no sake other than yours."

Thalion was momentarily taken aback. "Really?" she asked, feeling a big humbled. "Thanks, I guess."

Being the kind, charitable person that she is, Estel yielded to her muses' pleas and led them into the kitchen, which was empty because of the late hour, to get them some tortillas (an item always kept in plentitude because Thalion is Texan to her core). As the three members of three races sat down to munch on their meager snack, Estel ventured a suggestion.

"You know, if you guys really want to help me out, you should probably start directing traffic in this place or something. Can you believe I was almost in wreck driving back tonight?"

 **. . .**

 **What did you guys think? Have any of you ever been involved in an orc-initiated car wreck before? I was fortunate to escape such devilish fate! Please be sure to leave me some feedback; I'd really appreciate it!**


	10. The (Almost) Dead Marshes

**Author's Note: This one ended up longer than I thought it'd be, but it was worth it. I hope you all enjoy; don't forget to give me some feedback!**

 **. . .**

"I just don't get it," Estel mumbled to herself, as she is so apt to do. "I know for sure that I brought my running shoes when I moved to Florida. I _know_ I did; it was a very purposeful act. How can they not be here anymore?"

"Did you leave them in Texas when you went home over the break?" her roommate suggested.

Thalion shrugged her shoulders. "They're kind of bulky; I don't know why I would have wasted the space in my bags for shoes and then also forgotten to bring them back to school."

"Well, do you have other shoes you can wear?" her roommate inquired.

Estel gave a long sigh and cast a glance at the only other option: a pair of very worn of shoes that cannot rightly be placed into any category of footwear, or at least no category that the shoe-knowledge-impaired writer knew of. They were slightly too big for Thalion's small feet, and any support they had once given was worn away. They bore no laces, being of the kind you simply slip on, and the inside material had been rubbed until threadbare. The outside fabric had also seen a lot of action, possessing holes big enough for one to see through. The shoes would not be ideal for a day trip the Everglades.

"I guess I can wear those," Thalion at last acknowledged in defeat. "After all, we're not supposed to be doing much walking."

Her roommate nodded encouragingly, but Estel's heart still misgave her. However, there was nothing she could do, and she would not have guessed that something so trivial was actually part of a much bigger evil plot.

. . .

Clearly the human manning the booth at the national park's entrance had never seen the likes of orcs before, and he had definitely not even imagined something like the semi-corporal spirit of Sauron, looming dark and terrible before him. His response, when the evil crew burst into the building, was to jump back in fright, bump into a desk behind him, and crash with many other objects onto the floor.

"If you cooperate, you shall be permitted to carry out your miserable, mortal life for the few years it will last under natural circumstances," Sauron's great voice boomed in the tiny room, causing the man to nearly faint. "Will you obey, or shall my minions drive submission out of you?"

The man was apparently unable to respond, but his clear lack of resistance was enough for Sauron to assume that there would be obedience. The orcs rushed forward and lifted the man to his feet, holding his arms securely so that he could not run away (though he hardly would have been capable in his current state).

"How much do the shuttles down the trail cost?" Sauron demanded. The orcs had to give their captive a good shaking to get him to attempt speech, and even then it was hard to understand his frightened voice.

"They don't cost," he answered, not daring to look up. "The price to get into the park covers it all."

Sauron let this run through his mind, weighing his options. "What is the path's distance by foot?" he inquired after a moment.

"Eight miles one way," the man responded. "Sixteen total."

A low, dangerous laugh echoed from Sauron's spirit, and he felt an intense pleasure with himself. "I knew that she would need those running shoes," he cackled before turning his mind to the mortal at hand. "You will enforce a price for the tram," the Dark Lord commanded. "It must be beyond what a college student can afford. If you so much as whisper about this encounter, you will not live long enough to regret it. Do you understand, foolish child of men?"

A shaky nod was the only answer, but it was enough for Sauron. His dark presence slowly filmed out of the room, and the orcs roughly shoved the unfortunate man away as they followed their master. A storm was brewing, both figuratively and, as Sauron was now working on, literally as well.

Sauron, as you know, can produce fumes from Mordor just as was seen in the siege of Gondor. But he can also make regular clouds, for after all, weather patterns are caused by wind and temperature, and Sauron can influence those with surprising skill. Now that Estel would be forced to walk so many miles in the open swamp, with no shelter to protect her, he would ensure that the hike was a disaster.

While the Dark Lord was busy doing his very dignified version of a rain dance, the car bearing Thalion and some of her peers made its way south towards the Everglades. The amount of hours it took to drive down to the Everglades from her school is classified. However, suffice it to say that the drive there and back can be accomplished in one day with time to sight see, but at the same time, you end up spending much more time in the car than in the national park.

"I knew our way was faster," the driver said happily as they neared the park's entrance. "Who needs to see Miami?"

"And we didn't have to pay tolls," another student added.

"Are the others still lost?" Estel inquired, less excited that they had won the unofficial race to the park and more concerned with the whole group arriving so that the troop could into the park. She'd had lots of enjoyable national park experiences in her lifetime, and she also really wanted to see some alligators.

"I don't know," replied Thalion's roommate. "They said the GPS led them to a car dealership."

The others laughed at this, and it was indeed funny, but Estel only managed a nervous chuckle. That was quite a freak accident; maybe a little _too_ freaky to actually be an accident. Surely the orcs could not have followed her all this way, right?

It took a while longer, but before noon, all three vehicles finally arrived at their destination. There they were greeted with a long line and overflowing parking lot, forcing them to drive back onto the main road and park in the grass beside the busy lanes. They then made their way to the entry, hoping to quickly gain access to a tram and thus be taken to their objective: a concrete observation tower. They were greeted with an unpleasant surprise.

"Tram tickets cost twenty-four dollars," one student informed the group soberly as he came back from his mission of securing their ride.

The faces of the broke college students fell, and they looked at each other nervously.

"I only have five dollars," one of Estel's peers announced, no doubt saying what most people were thinking. The writer nodded, for even though she had a bit more than that, she didn't have enough, and there was no way she would have spent that kind of cash even if she did possess it. She could eat for at least ten days off of that much money!

"Well, we can walk it, I guess," someone suggested. Indeed, there wasn't really another option; they hadn't driven all morning to turn around, and if they went further south to another part of the park, it would take even longer to drive back. But there was no doubt it would be a long walk.

The group agreed and, after paying the fee for entry that was necessary just to walk the path, they went to the visitor center. There they grabbed some maps, made their way to the trail head, and began the walk. Estel seemed to be the only one who noticed the distance of the hike.

She really didn't think they would even attempt to make it all the way. The furthest she had ever walked in one day was seven miles, though to her credit, that was lugging a heavy backpack up a mountain in the wilderness. This was a paved path on flat ground, but sixteen miles is still sixteen miles.

After half an hour of walking, a very large blister somehow developed in the dead center of Thalion's right foot, perhaps due to her lack of adequate footwear. She began limping on it as nonchalantly as she could, but this only caused pain in other parts of her feet and legs as she put incorrect stress on her bones and muscles. And it made it even harder that her peers were somehow all simultaneous endowed with immunity to pain and weariness, and they never stopped for a break.

It was nice to see some alligators, though. Estel was of course worried that these creatures had some allegiance to Sauron, but as it turned out, they were actually quite lazy. One girl in the party even tried her luck by _grabbing the tails of two rather large beasts_ , but they didn't react. Thalion behaved like a perfect tourist, snapping pictures and acting like alligators were special, even though she had been told that they actually lived in her area of Texas as well.

But once the awe of the mini-dragons had subsided, things went downhill fast—unfortunately not literally. First, there were only tiny little sprinkles peppering the band of travelers as they walked. However, these sprinkles soon turned into big drops, the wind picked up considerably, and before you could say, "I didn't think it was supposed to rain today", there was a legitimate downpour falling on the group of now pathetic-looking college students. The wind was so strong that it caused the rain to soak only the writer's left side, making her jeans appear striped. Her ball cap graciously shielded her eyes, but otherwise she had no protection, making her fear for her camera's wellbeing.

Had she been alone, Estel would have certainly turned back at this point. After all, who would continue to put distance between themselves and cover without any assurance that the rain would stop? Apparently the answer to that question is the exact people that Thalion was traveling with. There was no question asked or alternative suggested; the troop simply continued forward.

The rain continued on and off for roughly half an hour before, by the grace of the Valar, it ceased. The students' clothes were slow to dry in the high humidity, but Estel was simply grateful for the break, and she was sure based on her aching feet that they would be turning around soon anyway.

"Look up ahead!" one of the students exclaimed. "I think that's the tower!"

To the writer's absolute horror, what was being pointed at was the tiniest speck on the horizon. It could have easily been a gnat hovering in just the right place so as to fool weary travelers. But the student was right, and Thalion's heart sank.

"I bet we're already half way there!" came a gleeful cry from another of the writer's peers.

Estel is a nice person, but it was hard to suppress a groan.

That little smudge was where they were headed? It looked like it could be ten miles away to Thalion's totally untrained eyes, and to her even less trained legs, it seemed unreachable. And that didn't even account for a return journey. Movie-verse Sam's line of despair penetrated her brain, though she didn't say it out loud. _I don't think there will be a return journey_. And if this trip did kill her, she wouldn't even be going out with her boots on because she was stuck with her current pair of incompetent shoes.

But what other options were there except to follow where her companions led? It wasn't as if this were the trek to Mordor she kept pretending it was: this was a fun vacation, right? Estel had a hard time fully embracing that idea, but she knew she would never enjoy herself if she made up her mind not to, so she put aside internal complaints and plodded onward, thinking with a smile of how great this would be once she put it into a semi-satirical story.

The travelers soon encountered another problem as they went along their winding path: the sidewalk was no longer above water level. Whether this was a result of the excessive rain or from Sauron's international pipeline of flood tunnels (which he uses whenever he wants to see mortals scurry, though scholars and archeologist alike are unsure both how or where this tunnel system exists), Estel did not know. Probably the latter, but since her companions didn't suspect anything, she just pretended to believe it was a natural occurrence. And anyway, who would build a path only a few inches above the surrounding swamps in a place that is susceptible to so much rain?

Regardless of the architecture or weather, the path was flooded and there was nothing to do except wade through it. The depth of the puddles varied from a thin glazing across the pavement to a few inches deep, and the result was totally soaked feet. This did not make walking much more pleasant, but again Thalion just remembered with a grin that this would soon be a happy and funny memory. If they made it back alive, that is.

The group had by now split up into two main parties, Estel being a part of the self-proclaimed Magnificent Seven. These brave souls, slightly behind the other pack, did enjoy much fun conversation to pass the (thousands of?) miles between them and the tower. The concrete structure steadily got bigger and bigger ahead of them, its growing size being the only thing that kept Thalion from dropping the I'm-just-as-strong-as-you-guys charade and begging for a break.

At long last, three hours and no stops after the beginning of the journey, the weary crew arrived at the foot of the tower. It had a long, winding ramp of white that made a circle until it reached the platform on the top. The less-cool walking group was waiting for the Magnificent Seven, all with their shoes off and snacks out. Thalion basically collapsed onto the ground when she reached the platform, taking in the beautiful view while she munched on her soggy tortillas.

Selfies were taken in abundance, a few inside jokes were created, and socks were twirled in the air to dry them. But within only twenty minutes, the students were somehow ready to begin the trek back. The Magnificent Seven wanted to take the same twisting, longer trail back to the visitors' center since it was more exciting. Estel was flabbergasted at the idea of adding a mile just for scenery they had already seen, but if she left the group, she would be a no-good traitor, wouldn't she? And look what happened at the breaking of the Fellowship in _The Lord of the Rings_ : a casualty had immediately resulted. Thalion was not going to be the cause of someone's death, so with a sigh but then a determined nod, she followed the Magnificent Seven. She could do it. For Boromir!

She of course knew beforehand that she would be desperately wishing she had taken the shorter route, but the onslaught of self-criticism was still pretty severe as the afternoon dragged on. She coped with herself by calculating the hikers' average speed per mile and then estimating the distance and time between them and their cars. She actually felt pretty awesome when, after someone asked how far they had to walk, her educated guess of 2.75 miles was then comparted to a GPS's precise answer of 2.7 miles. Her weak little brain had been within a twentieth of a mile!

You must understand, readers, that Thalion doesn't have many victories. Thus she must celebrate each one, however pathetic.

The sun slowly made its way toward the horizon before finally plunging the world into darkness. But thankfully, their lack of breaks enabled the Magnificent Seven to make it to the main road before it was pitch black, and they even beat some of the members of the less-cool group who had taken the smaller route. By this time, with over sixteen miles under her belt, Estel was very near physical collapse; no joke. She had some muses show up along the last stretch to give her pep talks of encouragement, and through that and divine intervention, she at last made it to the car, fell into the backseat, and became mostly dead.

But there is a big difference between mostly dead and all dead, thankfully for Thalion.

The blur of events that occurred in the next several hours are difficult for Estel to reiterate because she was incoherent most of the time. Suffice it to say that through many hours of driving and switching of vehicles, Thalion at last got back to her apartment. It is not at all an exaggeration to say that when the writer went to mount the last flight of stairs, she could barely walk. Her feet were grotesquely swollen, hurting beyond words, and every muscle from head to toe was tight and near cramping. Had she been alone, the pain would have been enough to make her cry.

For an understanding of the last stage of this episode, one must go back a few hours to the apartment before the writer had arrived. You see, the Snagas had got word from their master that Estel had somehow survived the Everglades, and they had raced to her apartment in hopes of setting some deadly trap since, in her weak state, she would be more prone to insanity. But they were thwarted when they tried to open the door and found that the chain-like lock was fastened.

"Drat!" Snaga 3 growled. "One of 'em is in there!"

"Now what?" Snaga 6.023*10^23 inquired of no one in particular. "I'm not about to do some crazy stunt to mess with a car again," he added, rubbing some of his bruises from the last encounter.

The Snagas, though not known for strategy, paced outside the door for a few moments to consider their options. At last, Snaga 1 came up with a plan that was as good as any, and even the chemistry-inclined orcs went along with it.

Attempting to sow derision in the apartment and also prepare a reasonable inconvenience for Estel, the orcs quickly concocted a gaseous chemical which caused extreme drowsiness and sleep. They then reached through the crack of the door and let the chemical loose beside the vent of the air conditioning unit, scurrying away when the deed was done.

Going back to Estel's weary arrival, she stumbled to the door at past midnight, barely standing on hugely swollen and pain-filled feet. There she was greeted by some of her other roommates pounding loudly on the apartment door and desperately calling out the name of the one who was inside.

"The chain is still locked!" they called through the small opening in the door, knocking as forcefully as they could. Of course this was not really the best thing to be doing after midnight, but there was no other option. They could not get in, and could not wait outside.

After a few more minutes of banging, screaming, sending phone calls, and Estel carefully attempting to keep any anger in her peers at bay, the roommate inside somehow overcame the effects of the orcs' chemical. She fought against the unnatural exhaustion, stumbling towards the door to unlock it for the party of worn out travelers. She apologized profusely for having left the lock on, but Estel consoled her with the gut feeling that there had been more going on.

Plus it made the trip's story even more crazy and memorable, so why not just take it in stride?

And with that, Thalion's Everglades adventure came to an end. She could not walk the next day, only getting out of bed at great need, and for the next week she only managed a to hobble. Take in that information with the fact that Estel is not one to be dramatic about injury. A month later, she finally peeled the dead skin of the massive blister on her foot, but the discoloration is till obvious to this day.

This was the first time any of the sanity attacks _literally_ left their scar on poor Estel, and it made her shudder to think of what could happen next.

 **. . .**

 **Please be sure to leave me a review! Have any of y'all ever been to the Everglades, or perhaps a different national park?**


	11. Construction and Destruction

**Author's Note: Sorry for my long absence! Rest assured that I have not been driven quite insane…as far as I know. Anyway, the semester got crazy busy, so not only was there little time to write, but there was also little time for orcs to attack me. They did what they could, as you shall read, but at least I made it through my first year of college without being sent to a mental institution. I hope you guys enjoy this update; please be sure to review!**

 **. . .**

Florida, if you have ever visited, hardly needs any more dangers on the roads. The drivers tend to forget that there actually are other people driving around them, and they are especially careless while driving well below the speed limit in the left lane when students need to hurry up and get to class. But since bad traffic can almost always be worsened, and since it has such an immediate effect on the patience of most human beings, it is a common target for evil forces.

Such was the case one Saturday about eleven o' clock in the morning, just after Estel had attended the last session of an amazing conference. The drive back to school was already a bit long, but Thalion was hoping the time would pass quickly. She had perhaps never enjoyed three days so much, but they had cost her dearly in regard to getting much homework done or sleep slept, and she desperately looked forward to rest.

And that was why it was so evilly stolen from her.

It's truly amazing how random "construction projects" seem to pop up right in the middle of the highway, especially when they are unannounced and of a strange kind. But no one questions those sorts of things since technically such delays are not that uncommon (thanks a lot, bureaucrats!), and so it was that no government agents were immediately called to come and inquire of the curious construction crew that soon appeared on the road for which Estel was bound.

One of the workers was at least twelve feet tall, and his bright orange construction vest was having difficulty staying on his semi-corporal body. There were then four regular-sized persons, their faces obscured by bandanas and sunglasses. Well, obscured to the drivers; if a bystander had actually come up and spoken to them face to face, the workers probably couldn't be mistaken for anything other than orcs.

"We look like complete idiots," mumbled Snaga 3 to Snaga 299,792,458m/s as he shifted his vest uncomfortably.

"Yeah; orange is definitely not your color," jeered Snaga 6.023*10^23, dodging an attempted slap from Snaga 3.

"Shut your yap," snapped Snaga 1. "You want the Boss to hear you?"

"Begin the work," came the booming command of the Dark Lord himself, as if on cue. The orcs didn't ask any questions or continue their quarrelling, quickly grabbing some of the construction tools they had brought and going about their task.

There wasn't actually any real task at all; the orcs just acted like they were supposed to be there by hitting the road's surface with picks and sticks that looked from afar like electric drills. One of them made sound effects through a megaphone to sell the act, and aside from the occasional honking of the traffic that was now at a standstill, no one thought to protest this seemingly pointless construction endeavor.

As soon as Thalion saw the brake lights ahead, she groaned inwardly. A fellow student had kindly offered to drive her back to her apartment, so at least Estel was not the one who had to worry about stopping and starting (one of her pet peeves since, as a Texan, she enjoys going as fast as is possible without getting pulled over). But still, traffic is clearly evidence of a fallen world, and the thought of being stuck on this highway of all highways for who knows how long was not at all appealing to the poor writer.

"Oh, great," the driver signed as the car slowed down and joined the seemingly eternal line of vehicles. "This will take a while."

Estel leaned back in her seat, her heavy eyelids threatening to close. But just before she dared to attempt a short nap, she spotted a figure walking along the shoulder towards their car. Even from a distance, she recognized the Ranger of the North almost immediately, and she blinked a few times to makes sure she wasn't hallucinating. Why, oh why did this always happen to her?

Aragorn finally arrived beside the vehicle, having come from the direction of the traffic jam's source. He motioned for Thalion to let down her window, but the writer first turned a nervous glance towards her driver, who was staring at the strange man outside the car in shock. Estel laughed shakily, trying to think of an excuse that would keep the other student from freaking out.

"Um, maybe this guy, um, knows about the wreck up ahead, or whatever," stumbled Thalion, again trying to casually laugh but failing miserably.

"Okay…" the other student consented, though she didn't seem to like the idea of talking to the weirdo much. Estel, out of options, simply swallowed hard and let her window down slowly, issuing a quick prayer for survival.

"Good morning, ma'am," Aragorn greeted, apparently having the decency to play along with Thalion's desire to not draw attention to herself.

"Good morning, sir," Estel replied. "Do you know what seems to be the hold up?"

The ranger's brows creased, not because he was confused, but because he wasn't sure how to relate the information without sounding to the outside party like a lunatic. At last, he formulated a response that was good enough.

"There are apparently some, er, people blocking the path. But several upholders of justice are in route to the incident. They would like to inform you to stay in your vehicle but remain calm. Hopefully things will get cleared out within the hour."

"An hour?" the driver moaned beside Thalion. "That'll take forever!"

The ranger chuckled a bit, and even though it was only half-hearted, it brought a smile to Estel's face to hear it. "Don't worry," Aragorn answered after a moment, "I'm sure you will have plenty of time to get wherever you're going." He glanced at the semi-formal attire of the two girls and raised his brows. "Do you have business somewhere?"

Now Thalion knew her muse had gone too far. Surely the driver thought this was a clear sign that the ranger was a creepy stalker or something. Estel refrained from eye contact with her kind peer, knowing that the silence alone confirmed her fears, and instead pretended to not be screaming on the inside.

"We're just headed home," she told Aragorn. "We've been at a conference."

The ranger beamed. "Really? What about?"

 _Why in the world is he so chatty?_ the writer yelled in her mind. Of course, she technically knew the answer. She had been bragging to her muses for weeks about this event, and Aragorn was no doubt trying to hear something about it. It's just that his timing couldn't have been worse.

But she might as well humor him; maybe a rant would make him leave, and her host would never judge her for _this_ tirade.

"Well," began the writer before taking a deep breath. "It was the Ligonier conference, which was focused on the heart of the Gospel this year. It was fantastic; they had some great guys, like Mohler and Lawson and of course Sproul. They got to dig into the significance a whole bunch of redemptive historical events; the even referenced Tolkien's idea of the eucatastrophe in regard to the birth of the new creation that occurred in the Resurrection! You know, because it's like the huge turning point in the story of man because after all our wickedness, deserving of God's wrath, Christ came in fulfilment of the promises of redemption and brought about double imputation in His perfect life and atoning death, both on behalf of His people, and then rose as a sign that now the eschatological new creation has been inaugurated and the new covenant has begun and we have union with Christ and so we've risen with Him spiritually even though we still wait for the full consummation which will occur with our own bodily resurrection on the Last Day and so that means that we—"

This theological explosion had the desired effect, making Aragorn's balk after about half a minute, his face going blank as he tried to process everything that had just been thrown at him (a task which could have taken him several life times, according to scholars). The ranger, of course, was well versed in many academic subjects, but no one can handle rapid fire theology from a student of Estel's school without some sort of break to mull things over.

"Okay, okay," he interrupted, putting his hands up as if in defense. "That's very interesting. Thank you. I hope the traffic starts moving quickly for you."

He backed away and Estel put up the window, thankful that he seemed to have taken her hint, at least on some level. However, her brilliant exposition would no doubt result in her having to spend hours explaining what she had just spouted when she finally did get home. But on second thought, that would actually be an ideal way to spend an afternoon. Theology is quite invigorating, not to mention awesome.

"That was freaky," the driver said aloud as the car inched forward. "Wonder if we should call the cops on him."

Thalion laughed out loud, way too loudly to remain inconspicuous. She quickly recovered and just shrugged her shoulders, unable to erase her grin completely. "Nah; probably just some crazy hobo or something. You know Floridians."

Both girls giggled, and it seemed that the awkward event would finally be ended. But as it turned out, the crew Aragorn had promised was not one to work in stealth or obscurity, as the unfortunate writer soon realized.

The first sign of a fight was simply the noise. To the ignorant bystander, it would have sounded like a sports shouting match from another country. To Estel, the true meaning was obvious: it was clearly the angry yells of a dark lord mixed with the battle cries of several different races in several different languages. The writer couldn't make out the clang of metal, but it seemed likely to her that since there were no explosions, it must be a localized, hand to hand combat. More horns began honking, obscuring the original noises, but Thalion knew the fight was far from over.

Suddenly a gold and green streak was launched into the air, disappearing from view as a bridge loomed ahead. Estel's eyes widened, as did those of her peer, though the girls had different thoughts about the object.

"What in the world?" the driver exclaimed. "Was that a piece of debris?"

The writer gave no answer, but she had a horrible feeling that it might have been the Prince of Mirkwood. However, before she could get really worried about the safety of her muse friend, she saw the same streak jumping down from the bridge, seemingly in an attack maneuver. Well, at least he was alive, though there was no knowing what else was going on in the scuffle.

Other things, too small to be people, began flying in all directions. Those might have actually been pieces of inanimate objects, like chunks of the road or parts of cars. Thalion had no idea what a sane person would think of that sight, but her more developed knowledge didn't make her feel any better.

Her stomach nearly tied itself in a knot when the wail of sirens filled the air. Sure, the cops might be able to stop the fight…but then again, they might also be blasted into oblivion by Sauron. Or they could arrest all participants, including the muses. Even after the event had happened and Thalion got the whole story from her Middle-earth friends, she was never told exactly what prevented them from being questioned by authorities.

Whatever happened when the police arrived, the results were quickly materialized. Four orc-sized objects were quickly tossed onto the bridge, followed quickly by a leaping object which looked remarkably like Sauron. This party quickly scurried away (if Sauron is actually capable of scurrying, that is), and there was no pursuit. Only a moment later, Estel spotted six or seven familiar figures quickly hastening down a side road, going in a different direction than the fiends had taken. One of them was Aragorn, and he looked back to the interstate and waved a hand towards it generally, as if sending the message that his work was done.

Thalion desperately hoped that this was a good sign.

It took another twenty minutes for the cars to begin inching forward again. When at last Estel and her companion passed through ground zero, there was clear evidence of the brawl. A few arrows were sticking out of the concrete shoulder barriers, a handful of vehicles were pulled over with shattered windows and blinking lights, and there were some rather large mars in the pavement that didn't appear to be normal potholes. The writer was very grateful that she wouldn't be asked to explain any of it, and she wondered how the muses would cover it up. Hopefully they would refrain from asking her for ideas.

At long last, after so many awful minutes of waiting, the road ahead cleared, and the pair of students sped towards their destination. Ah, how glorious it was to move quickly again! Thalion kept her eyes peeled for friends and foes alike the rest of the trek, but she was blessed to not see either.

"Whew!" the driver said as they took the appropriate exit. "Glad that's over. I hate traffic!"

"Me, too," agreed Estel genuinely. Then, after a sigh, she added quietly, "I hope that doesn't happen again."

But she knew that if she looked at things logically, her chances of being left alone were pretty slim. Okay, they didn't exist. It was just a matter of time before something else came to wreck her world, whether figuratively or literally. Oh, what a lovely thought to have going into finals.

 **. . .**

 **I am not a paid spokesman for Ligonier, but seriously, YOU ALL MUST COME TO THE NEXT NATIONAL CONFERENCE. No kidding. I promise if any of you make the trip, I will meet you and sign autographs. ;) If next year's conference is half as good as the last one, it'll be worth 10 times the price and travel. So come!**

 **I don't know when the next chapter will come (I obviously can't predict with the forces of evil will strike next), but since I'm home for the summer, I hope to write up anything that does happen to me. Be on the lookout! Oh, and be sure to leave me some feedback!**


	12. Don't Mess with Texas

**Author's Note: Hello, my wonderful readers! I thank you all for your patience as this story has been slow to update. I haven't had much help from the muses lately. *elbows snoring muses* I hope you guys are having a nice summer, and hopefully this update will brighten your day with a laugh or two. Don't forget to leave me some feedback if you enjoy the story!**

 **. . .**

Guests are exceedingly rare in the dark halls of Barad-dûr, but every century or so, someone comes knocking. Well, actually they come when they are summoned before the throne of the Dark Lord, an occurrence which is not exactly coveted among mortals. Yet for the sake of finishing off the sanity of a pesky fanfiction writer, Sauron did just that and invited a stranger into his courts, a man with whom the team of Snagas was not familiar.

The man was clad in blue and white with dark eyes and a selfish expression. He did not appear to be at all familiar with the ways of orcs, but at the same time he was clearly no stranger to evil. He said no word unless directly addressed, hardly acknowledging the existence of anything except of course the menacing form of the Dark Lord.

"You," Sauron said, fixing a deadly eye on the unknown person so that the man was forced to look down at the ground. "Are you aware of my purpose?"

"Yes," the man affirmed, a foreign accent evident in his speech. "You seek to destroy the mind of a nemesis—"

"Hardly a nemesis," the Dark Lord interrupted coldly. "More of a pathetic nuisance."

The man nodded very quickly, eager to agree and not incur any wrath from Sauron, as would any sensible person. "Yes, of course," he stumbled. "You have a _nuisance_ who must be dealt with, and apparently creating the desired effect coincides with something I want. But your, um, spokesperson wouldn't specify."

"That is because I wanted to speak to you myself," Sauron answered. "I don't trust these miserable creatures." Dark lords are not known to be caring of their employees' feelings. The orcs very discreetly rolled their eyes as Sauron continued. "I do not intend to mince words. You hate the Texas Rangers, correct?"

The man nodded emphatically. "With a passion."

The Dark Lord sneered. "From the bat flip last season, I knew it was so. I desire to continue plaguing the team with injuries as it has proven effective against the worthless writer so far. The catcher's broken arm drew tears from the mortal in question as she watched the replay a few months ago. But that wasn't big enough, and the team is still doing well. I want a more permanent wound to be inflicted, one which is both physical and mental."

The man hesitated. "What exactly does that mean?"

"That we don't just hurt someone, but we do so in a way that would humiliate and enrage the franchise eternally. Your bat flip accomplished those things, in a small dose, with perfection—I want you to ride that momentum to inflict a crushing blow to those miserable Texas Rangers."

A small smile crept up the stranger's face. "Sounds great; what did you have in mind?"

. . .

"This game is going on forever," Snaga 3 murmured angrily underneath his heavy umpire equipment as he met up with the other two umpires.

"Shut up," growled Snaga 299,792,458m/s, his crooked teeth hardly visible beneath the mask stretched over his face and under his uniform's mask. "Be patient."

"Look who's preachin' virtues now," mocked the final umpire, Snaga 1.

"If we weren't on camera," came a low, threatening response from Snaga 299,792,458m/s, "I'd be very tempted to slice open your guts. Just shut your worthless trap and focus on the plan."

"I'm sure that would make a lovely scene for your buddy 6.023*10^23 to watch, huh?" laughed Snaga 3. "Why should he get to take over the camera while we languish in these ridiculous disguises? We've been playing along like morons for six innings with absolutely nothing to show for it."

"That's because our man hasn't had an opportunity yet," Snaga 299,792,458m/s answered with an air of superiority. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Hey, they're starting again," interrupted Snaga 1 as the three umps stood up straighter before facing Snaga 299,792,458m/s one last time. "And our guy is due up. Why don't you just insure that he gets on base, since you're calling the balls and strikes?"

"We can't draw suspicion and risk someone noticing," retorted the ump as he began walking back towards home plate. "We're only here to offer protection after the injury has been dealt, just to keep the agent from embarrassing himself."

"What a worthless little runt; can't pull off an attack against one person without body guards," grumbled Snaga 1, the orcs finally separating and going to their respective places on the field. Despite all their complaints, they were greatly looking forward to seeing their (albeit wimpy) ally intentionally shatter the leg of the Rangers' second baseman. But they weren't nearly as eager as the batter himself, stepping into the box with a glint of wickedness shining (except since it was born in darkness, it could be said to un-shine) in his eye.

"Fourteenth inning slide won't save you now," the villain whispered evilly to himself.

"What?" asked the catcher.

"Shut up," the agent of Sauron snapped, planting both feet firmly in the batter's box. The catcher, used to the antics of the notorious batter, simply sighed and prepared to receive the pitch.

With Texas only leading by one run, everyone was surprised when the pitcher (purposefully?) plunked the batter with the first pitch, earning a swift ejection and unwittingly placing the fiend in position to carry out his villainous intentions. And even better, the next batter hit a ground ball, which meant Sauron's little buddy had the perfect opportunity to slide into second.

Everything was going perfectly. With his spikes set on a trajectory to snap the Ranger's femur, the worker of iniquity plowed forward, waiting excitedly to hear a sickening snap. Time slowed down as the baseball was fielded to the second baseman and all the movement seemed to intersect at the exact same place.

But then everything went array.

The second basemen somehow eluded the illegal slide, avoiding a career-ending injury by mere inches. The attacker, at a loss for only a moment, immediately went about his plan B for all circumstances: whining. He got up and started screaming in the second baseman's face about the Ranger trying to hit him with the throw or something equally nonsensical. The two exchanged shoves. And then the fiend learned a valuable lesson, one which he would carry with him the rest of his life.

Don't mess with Texas. Seriously, just don't.

As some of you know, the Texas Rangers are an exceedingly classy team. Most of their players are very respectful, and all of them love each other and the game of baseball. But it is also important to note that they bore a heavy weight from an awful ending to the 2015 season, one which is too tragic to recount in a tale such as this. It was a personal blow curtesy of Sauron's newest friend, one that had lasting effects just like when a bully pushes a kid down at recess in front of the whole school and makes a show of it.

And, well, sometimes bullies just need a really loud wakeup call.

The second baseman set his jaw as well as his fist. Sauron's agent was coiling his arm for a punch, but his reaction was far too slow and stupid to be of any use. In one fluid motion, the Rangers' second baseman thrust his right hand out as though shot from a spring, landing the single most epic punch in the history of sports brawls (because Nolan Ryan delivered six punches, not one; otherwise it would be a clear tie). The villain's hat and sunglasses went flying in slow motion as he stumbled back, and had things gone on uninterrupted, the Ranger might have beaten the living daylights out of Sauron's little buddy.

It was not the Snagas who came to their ally's rescue. They were not only stunned but also gripped with fear at the impressive display of awesomeness unleashed by the Ranger, and even though they knew their man's humiliation would accomplish the opposite of the mission's intent, they considered their lives more valuable than victory and fled the field.

Rather, it was the Ranger's third baseman who saved the worker of evil. Many songs and tales could be made of this player's honor, for though he had every reason to hate the perpetrator, he leapt quickly into the fray and wrapped his strong arms securely around the beaten party, pulling him to safety. An all-out brawl began as some more Sauron-loving non-Rangers burst onto the field to cause unwarranted trouble, but the main players in the initial spark remained out of the fight.

For the fool who thought he could defeat the Texas Rangers, as with Prince Rabadash (a character baring remarkable resemblance to Sauron's agent), justice was mixed with mercy.

. . .

Estel was beaming ear to ear on Monday morning as she walked across the gravel road which led to the stable where she was employed. She had not been following yesterday's game as it occurred, but she had watched the footage about five hundred times by now, and although her conscience was conflicted, she could not deny a general glee.

She soon noticed that a figure was waiting for her up ahead, a man tall, lean, and dressed in tattered travelling clothes. It was her favorite ranger (of the north, of course; she had a different list of favorite Rangers of Texas).

"Aragorn!" she cried before bursting into a long, clear laugh in which her eyes teared up and she bent over, holding her stomach to keep the chuckles at bay.

After a minute of this insanity, she stood up and saw that her friend was smiling back at her, shaking his head. "I am surprised at you," he said after a moment. "I thought you said you didn't want retaliation. Turn the other cheek, right?"

Thalion's grin finally subsided, and instead she took on an expression of deep thought. "I've been thinking a lot about it," she admitted soberly. "It's tough. But this is the way I see it: the punch's deliverer was wrong in what he did. I'm not going to lie; turning the other cheek is what the individual should have done. But…"

"…it's poetic justice," Aragorn finished, a small smile gracing his face.

"Yeah," Estel agreed with a laugh. "There was a stuck up, spoiled brat who has trampled on others without remorse. No one could stop him as he held disgrace over us with his very presence. Now he's got nothing on us; his mouth has been officially stopped."

"Quite literally," chuckled the ranger. "I wonder if his jaw is sore."

"I'm sure it is," Thalion replied, walking past her muse and toward the stalls that awaited her work. "But not as sore as his ego." The writer let out a long, sad sigh to the surprise of Aragorn. "I pity him," she added quietly.

"That is a good sign," the ranger said, joining Estel in walking toward the barn. "It is a feeling with which I am familiar. Perhaps this unfortunate event will help correct the man's errant ways."

Thalion shrugged doubtfully. "After the game, he called us gutless, said we had revealed our true colors, claimed that we lacked any kind of leadership, and even had the gall to state that it takes a bigger man than that to knock him down."

All this was, of course, too much for Aragorn to take seriously, and he let out his wonderfully cheering laugh, which the writer was destined to join. "I don't think he'd know leadership if it dropped right in front of him," the muse said at last.

"Or if it dragged him to safety when he had just earned himself a punch to the face," Estel chuckled with an eye roll. "Man, I haven't had so much fun in a long time. This has finally wiped out the bat flip and restored honor to our team. I think it just might have saved my sanity."

Far away in Barad-dûr, Sauron took his Palantir, let out a roar which deafened anyone within a one mile radius, and threw the seeing stone out the nearest window, still screaming in rage. Dark Lords do not appreciate when their brilliant plans backfire in such ironic fashion.

 **. . .**

 **I would like to issue a special reminder in conclusion: this is, like all these chapters, based on a true story. Did I take liberties with some characters that I don't know personally? Yeah. I was a bit mean to a certain player, I grant that. But this is a sort of parody on my life, so I think the liberties were acceptable. Anyway, the events surrounding the climax are legit. You can look up videos of the brawl if you want to see it for yourself (highly recommended by me). If you didn't see it in the news, that is. It was a pretty big deal. Ha.**

 **Hopefully you guys enjoyed this update; please don't forget to leave me a review! And remember, kids: don't mess with Texas! ;)**


	13. Waking Up to a Nightmare

**Author's Note: Alas and alack! I cannot believe how long it has been since I updated this story! Please accept my most sincere and humble apologies. But the reason has not been laziness—of that I can assure you. I have been incredibly busy (the kind of busy where sometimes you go to bed at after one in the morning and get up at three), and the dynamic of my life has radically shifted since the summer. But you'll be learning about that soon because I was miraculously able to pen two chapters during the Christmas break. For those of you still waiting on replies to ancient PMs or reviews, I again apologize. I'll try to get back to you soon. Meanwhile, I hope you enjoy the latest of Estel's misadventures! Please be sure to leave me some feedback if you can.**

 **. . .**

All students have their greatest fears. For many, its rejection. Some are worried about passing their classes. But then there are those, like Estel, who would prefer to avoid unpleasant attention if at all possible. And thus the terror that plagues such people as Thalion every waking moment is being late to class. Plus it's just rude; come on.

But as it turns out, sometimes there actually is nothing you can do to avoid it. Well, you can't avoid it if your life is being rigged by a team of conniving Snagas. And that is the scenario so delightfully placed before Sauron, who eagerly sent his minions to ruin a perfectly good morning class for his least-favorite fanfiction writer.

You see, Estel had begun to suspect that the attacks on her sanity were nearing their end. She had endured very severe trials during her summer and early fall, but they were not of the same nature as the previous sanity attacks. They were more like plain ole tragedies. But Estel found in those moments that His grace was sufficient for her, even in her weakness. And so she was grown more and more through the hardships, and she thought that this trend showed a decisive break with what Sauron had been scheming up in her freshman year. Maybe the dispensationalists were right and she had entered a new age of her life, one which didn't have any continuity with her first year of college.

That's funny.

Dark Lords are actually surprisingly patient, and so it was that Sauron awaited the perfect moment to shatter the peace that had at last settled onto Estel's life. This moment came during the middle of the night as Wednesday became Thursday, when the writer finally collapsed in a heap on her bed in her now big, empty room. Her roommate had gone back to her home state, leaving the entire space open for Estel. This might sound like a nice thing, but it meant that there was no one to help watch out for orcs.

Estel was getting very much less sleep this sophomore year, and it never took much time for her consciousness to slip into oblivion when the end of the day finally arrived. However, being a diligent student, she set her alarm so that she would have plenty of time the following morning to make it to her 8 am class. She heard some banging on the walls, but her neighbors were always disruptive, and so as she fell asleep, she didn't suspect a thing.

Foolish mortal.

The orcs had been working on secret entrances into this new apartment ever since Estel had moved in, and now was their chance to test one out. Snaga 3 was the one who drew the short straw and had to crawl through the air duct first. His armor scraped roughly along the metal walls of the small tunnel, but Estel did not stir, even when Snaga 3 let out a few unpleasant exclamations. When he reached the vent's opening, he pushed against it and accidently fell forward, crashing out of the hole and tumbling to the carpet in a heap.

"Nice going, scum," came the grunt of Snaga 299,792,458m/s from inside the air duct.

"Shut up," Snaga 3 whispered back harshly. "She's in here!"

Snaga 299,792,458m/s peeked his head out of the vent and looked down into the bedroom where the mortal slept, still unmoving. The orc snarled and climbed down to the floor, scoffing at the writer.

"I don't get why Sauron doesn't just want us to get rid of 'er once and for all," he growled, feeling the hilt of his dagger. "I'm sick of this stupid work."

"Quit yer yapping!" commanded Snaga 6.023*10^23, who joined his companions in the now crowded room. "If we killed 'er now, she'd be a martyr. And that's even worse than the annoying runt she already is."

"Not by much," chimed in Snaga 1, who made a rather loud clanging as he let the vent slam behind him, earning glares and shushing from his three companions. Estel didn't so much as flinch.

"Let's just hurry up and get out of here," Snaga 3 grumbled.

No one wanted to take orders from anyone else, but the statement was mutually felt, so the orcs set about their work. Snaga 6.023*10^23 went about the extremely difficult task of navigating Estel's phone to locate and turn off the alarm. The other three fiends started mapping out the entirety of the apartment, finding possible weaknesses in its layout and making tentative plots. Before crawling back through the airshaft, Snaga 1 went ahead and initiated another lesser plan, releasing only about one or two thousands ants into the kitchen. Satisfied, the crew of orcs slipped out of the apartment, the writer still completely oblivious.

Had the plan gone completely according to plan, Estel might have missed her entire class. Yet in a moment which would seem to disprove the idea of chance or blind fate, Thalion's exhausted form stirred from sleep all on its own. Slowly turning her sleepy gaze toward her clock, the writer's eyes shot open as she tried to process the terrible numbers which were immediately engraved into her mind.

7:48.

The speed with which Estel leapt out of her bed actually caused the radar guns to malfunction, so no one is sure just what the velocity was. Regardless, she made it to the bathroom faster than the speed of light and got ready for her day as fast as she possibly could. It was truly a miracle that the clock said 7:55 when she bolted out the front door and to her car.

Estel's school was about 10 minutes from her apartment under good circumstances, but of course, this morning none of the traffic was in the writer's favor. She wasn't sure that she didn't see an orc or two driving some of the slow vehicles around. At long last, her car raced into the school's parking lot, and she sprinted toward the door. She was late, but not too late; 8:11. It could be worse.

Then it got worse.

The Reformed world is very small, for those of you who know much about that sort of thing. But what are the chances that a semi-famous speaker would be walking around Estel's campus at 8:11 am on this particular Thursday? Well, he was. The one of whom Estel speaks is a man by the name of Chris Larson, the president and CEO of Ligonier Ministries (one of Thalion's favorite organizations in existence). As the flustered fanfiction writer scurried to the door, she stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth hanging open when she saw this hero of hers holding the door open for her.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly, flashing a smile.

"Good morning," stammered the poor writer as she entered the building, her hands shaking slightly.

He surely knew exactly what was going on; there were only two classes that morning, both beginning at 8. Only a lazy, late student would show up at this time, and her manner only confirmed that she was rushing to a class. No excuse would work. Estel tried to grin, but it was just a sheepish expression which no doubt looked as pathetic as the rest of the girl.

The nerd's celebrity didn't act like he thought twice about her state, but Thalion was pretty sure he was mentally noting her features so he could use her as an example in some speech about irresponsible kids in some conference someday. There was no more time to fret about the miserable predicament, but Estel's cheeks burned red as she slunk down the hall to her class.

More embarrassment awaited her as she was forced to do the one thing she had feared since the day she was born: walk into a class that was already in session. As expected, a thousand pairs of eyes (okay, so more like fifteen pairs, but still) shot in her direction as the door mercilessly creaked upon her entry. Estel looked stubbornly at her feet as she quickly slipped into her spot, but she could feel the professor's gaze burning straight through her. She continued to cause disruption as she unloaded her laptop and set up her little study station on the desk, all the while cursing that Morgoth-loving smartphone which surely must have been the cause of all these woes.

The drama which Estel had allowed to build slowly diminished as class dragged on. During the break, she went to the professor and apologized profusely, and the man was extremely gracious to her (seriously; he's the best, y'all). Even though she was completely and utterly mortified with her wretchedness in spite of the teacher's kindness, she felt better as she got the chance to talk with a pretty nice-looking young man both during the break and after class was over. Man, he seemed like such a great guy.

Maybe there was still something to live for after all.

 **. . .**

 **You guys will never guess who happened to sit right next to me during a session of the conference I attended this past Monday, months after the above chapter's incident. Chris Larson. *facepalms* At least he didn't act like he recognized me. ;) Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the update! I should have the next chapter up presently. In the meantime, don't forget to review! Oh, and the next chapter is a doozy; you might want to be on the lookout for it. It's definitely the best chapter of this story (and maybe any story, to tell you the truth).**


	14. Of Estel's Dichotomy

**Author's Note: Sorry it's taken me longer than I had hoped to get this out there! I would tell you how busy I am, but I'm too busy to spare the time. But let me take a brief moment to remind readers of the fact that these stories are based off true events. This really did happen, and the outworking of it has forever changed my life. I invite you to enjoy and ask you to review.**

 **. . .**

 **Dedicated to my favorite person. This story is simply a gesture to display the truth that you already know and the promise that I have already made.**

 **. . .**

Things were coming to their climax as the semester wore on, being best described by stealing from the beginning of _A Tale of Two Cities_ : it was the best of times, and yet it was the worst of times. But of course, this requires a bit more explanation, and first, as always, one must deal with the "worst of times."

The orcs were hard at work, perhaps doing things more subtly and yet more constantly than ever before. Sauron was getting anxious, not to mention frustrated by the apparent lack of success of his schemes, and so he ordered attacks as frequently as the Snagas could manage. He took the normal ants that had been released in Estel's apartment, mutated them to the size of the creatures from Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull, and then re-released them. He made sure that the homework was overbearing. He sabotaged the lives of Thalion's peers and professors in as many ways as he could. He even assured that the writer lost as much sleep as possible. But she seemed distracted from all her troubles, not dwelling on them as much as she had done formerly. In fact, she seemed somehow to be happier than ever, almost as if this was the "best of times." And that was a problem.

"You worthless maggots!" the Dark Lord shouted at his minions after they returned to Barad-dûr without results once again. "What do you mean she never showed up?"

Snaga 3, who was at this point very concerned about his wellbeing, cleared his disgusting throat a few times before gathering the courage to speak. "She never arrived, my lord. We waited to ambush her all day, but she never came. We left at midnight, when the security began circling her apartment more frequently."

"But it's where she lives!" Sauron retorted, the temperature of the room rising slightly. "Where in Arda could she have been all day?"

"We do not know, my lord," Snaga 3 answered meekly. "It must have been a pressing need to keep her gone from her home for so long, especially with all the homework we've managed to give her."

The Dark Lord brooded over these things silently for a few moments, much to the intimidation of the orcs. Finally, he let out a sigh which hit the Snagas just as when one opens the door of an oven which contains the burnt remains of some mushroom and fish casserole.

"Follow her," Sauron commanded at last. "No more plotting in advance; you couldn't execute a conspiracy to save your lives—a fact which might cost you just that," he added darkly, causing the orcs to quiver in spite of themselves. "Bring supplies with you," Sauron continued, "and plague her in all settings in all ways. Find out what it is that is so important to her and then report back here. I am weary of this, and I do not like to be wearied."

All four Snagas nodded hurriedly and scampered out of the great throne room as quickly as their orc feet could carry them. This task from Sauron was easier said than done since the writer's main pretense for leaving her apartment was school, a place to which the orcs hated to venture. Besides, the writer's fearsome muses tended to hang out on campus to secretly listen to lectures, so it wasn't always the safest place to be wandering around if one is an agent of the Dark Lord. But Sauron was growing impatient—and he had never been known to be understanding in the first place—so the orcs were forced to be more bold and visit the campus in daylight hours.

And thus they began to realize what it was that was taking so much of Thalion's time and making her seemingly resilient to their plots. But the orcs were afraid to go to Sauron with anything less than certain, so they continued stalking the writer and ended up following her one night to a little area of shops near to her apartment.

"What is this place?" Snaga 1 asked his companions as they drove their stolen vehicle (something which they used to create unending conspiracies, though with the roads and drivers of Florida, they were hardly out of place) after the Estel's car. "The blasted writer doesn't like shopping; why would she come here?"

"What do you think we are here to learn, idiot?" Snaga 6.023*10^23 snarled as they stopped the vehicle and stealthily snuck around the parking lot to follow Thalion.

The sun had already gone down, and there was a nip of chill in the air (okay, not really, but in Florida you call anything below 75 chilly). The situation _was_ quite odd based on the character sketch the orcs had come to know of their target throughout their year of bothering her. This was not sort of place she would normally visit, not in a hundred years. And yet she was here. But then the orcs noticed something quite horrifying, something which they were not sure how to process or even comprehend.

The writer wasn't alone.

Snaga 299,792,458m/s actually choked, the other orcs yelling at him to shut up and be quiet, but they were all in complete shock. Sure, they'd seen Thalion hanging out with people before (though they were never sure why anyone in their right mind would want to be in Estel's presence by their own will), but they had always assumed it was a sort of charity which was required. This was clearly not the case now.

Once the orcs recovered their wits (or a reasonable facsimile thereof), they scurried after Thalion as she walked down the dark sidewalk and past a variety of stores and shops before at last she and her companion reached a fountain and bench, where they sat down. There was a large plant directly behind the bench, so the Snagas navigated carefully into the brush to figure out what in Angband was going on.

Orcs do not get uncomfortable easily. Like, not at all. Nearly nothing in all the created order can make them queasy. But intense exposure to pure goodness does unsettled them considerably, and so it was that they were horrified by the scene they were forced to witness. Snaga 1 had to leave to empty the contents of his stomach (a concoction I dare not describe) halfway through the ordeal, and his three companions were feeling no better. Only fear of Sauron's wrath kept them from fleeing, and even that by only a tiny margin.

Estel was sitting with a young man, someone rather handsome and, from the snatches of conversation the orcs heard, very kind and smart. He had his right arm wrapped around Thalion's shoulder, and they spoke in soft voices to each other, eyes shining brightly as they gazed at the stars. They talked not of meaningless things, but of high and beautiful matters, diving into the depths of theology and doxology as naturally as breathing. Only a few minutes of witnessing this phenomenon made the orcs sure of their terrible predicament.

Estel was absolutely, irrevocably, and unconditionally in love.

The orcs did not speak to each other as they continued to observe the scene. This could be the death blow of the whole operation, and each one of them knew it. They also knew what this meant for their odds of survival, and it filled them with even greater hatred and fear. While they had possessed some faint notion of hanging around to follow the writer back to her apartment, they soon realized that she would be on the bench for hours, so at long last they left their post and returned to their vehicle, still stunned.

"They didn't even notice the mosquitos we had attacking them in droves," Snaga 3 murmured aloud as they took the exit from I-4 that led straight to Mordor. "How is that possible, theoretically or biologically?"

The other orcs didn't respond, but the next song to play on the radio was "That's the Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News (prompting Snaga 1 to smash the said radio with his fist repeatedly), and so the inquiry was in fact answered. The group continued in sober silence, dreading to learn what effects their new information would have once they brought it to their master.

Elsewhere, there was another moment of silence, but it was far from sober. There have been many attempts on the part of Estel to communicate exactly what the atmosphere was like during such moments, but all of her descriptions always fall short. The closest things she could conjure up were phrases like "blissfully happy," "utterly content," or "completely complete," but none of those could quite capture it. In spite of Thalion's failure to articulate the scene, may the audience rest assured that it was glorious.

Estel and her companion still sat on the bench, their rich conversation having ceased for a moment as the aforementioned silence hung lightly over them. The writer was no longer gazing at the sparkling heavens, but now she had her face pressed against the warm shoulder of the young man beside her, acutely aware of his arm—still draped behind her—pulling her close. This was her favorite place in the world. This was her favorite person in the world. She could drink in his presence forever and never tire.

"Estel," came the soft, gentle voice of Thalion's companion. The writer tilted her head back so that she could face the speaker, her mouth spread in a wide grin she could never erase while in his arms. His eyes shone, and a smile graced his own face. This sight alone was almost enough to make the writer cry, and she does not cry easily.

"Do you know what?" he continued, his voice still quiet and tender.

Thalion's grin grew slightly. "What?"

"I love you," he whispered to her. "So, so much. And that will never, ever change. Okay? Never."

Estel looked deeply into his eyes, and in them was the greatest concentration of genuineness she had ever seen in anyone. It was one of the first things she had noticed about him, one of the first things which drew her affection towards him. It was one of the things she loved about him.

"And I love you, too," she replied in the same soft voice. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Tears really did prick her eyes as she clung to him, unable to comprehend just how it was that she had received this immeasurably good gift. She let out a long sigh, again resting her head on his shoulder. "I love you so much."

She did.

 **. . .**

 **I would apologize for getting sappy on you guys except that I'm not sorry at all. :) So, will there be more conspiracies now that they have been rendered more or less obsolete? I am not sure, to be honest. Rest assured that more will come of this story, be it additional chapters or at the very least an epilogue. The muse is not dead. But my busy life is doing everything it can to kill this story (and all its siblings, too), so I regret to say that an update is unlikely to come soon. But I do not quit on things; my name is not "Steadfast" for nothing! In the meantime, please let me know what you thought. I really hope to be able to get back to reviewers and PMs soon. Thank you guys so much for reading!**


	15. Epilogue

**Author's Note: Yes, I am indeed still alive, and my muse has never forsaken this story! At least…not entirely. I apologize that it took my** _ **so**_ **long to wrap up this, my beloved Conspiracies, but now that the final words are penned, I can say I'm pleased with the way it turned out. I hope you enjoy the last installment to this tale! Please don't forget to leave me some feedback!**

…

Everything was going just as rehearsed. Shaking off some of the snow which had fallen onto his travel-stained cloak, Aragorn cupped his hands around his eyes and looked into the house of his focus through a small window, able to see the living room fairly clearly despite the blinds being half closed.

This was the moment he had been waiting for, an event many months—even years—in the making. The ranger felt his heart race as two mortals entered the living room, the young man allowing the maiden to take her seat first before snuggling up beside her. Both had mugs of warm coffee in their hands, and even though the girl was greatly weary with a long day of travel, she was slow to sip the drink. Aragorn silently prayed that the Valar would speed her thirst as he noticed the man's slight anxiety.

 _How can she not want to slurp down the coffee?!_

The two spent several minutes in casual conversation, one which Aragorn was sure was quite pleasant but hoped would end soon. He felt for the young man, who swished his drink somewhat nervously. The girl was seemingly oblivious, still enjoying the talk without so much as glance at the mug she held.

Aragorn closed his eyes and huffed, shaking his head. Was she going to blow everything? He looked inside again, and with his great eye for detail, he noticed the girl take a nanosecond to peer into her nearly empty cup. His heart leapt into his throat, and he pressed himself up against the window, willing his trained ears to make out the words being spoken.

"Hey, Edennil," the girl began, her head down resting nonchalantly against the young man's shoulder. "There's something written at the bottom of this mug. But there's still coffee inside, so I can't see it." Aragorn could detect a sweet and tender warmth in her voice. She had no doubt just read what was written there; she was just doing this for the glory of the moment. She looked up at the handsome lad, eyes shining. "Could you tell me what it says?"

Aragorn wanted to shout his approval for the way she handled herself, but the moment was far from over, so he kept his attention focused inside the room. A huge grin spread across the young man's face, and he carefully moved from his place and slid his hand under the couch to pick up a small box. He looked up at the girl, who was beaming herself, and rearranged his position so that he was down on one knee before her.

"It says, 'Marry me.'" His voice was steady but carried emotion and raw joy. He paused only a moment to smile even wider and to open the box, revealing the most beautiful diamond ring ever crafted my mortal men. "Will you marry me, Estel?"

The ranger outside felt the corners of his mouth irresistibly drawn upward as tears formed in the girl's eyes. "I will indeed," she answered, rushing suddenly into his arms.

They both stood and hugged for a very, very long time, and Aragorn felt a great joy in himself for their happiness. He too knew how painful it was to be forced to live over a thousand miles from one's beloved. Edennil and Estel had endured that for over half a year now, but at this moment, the hope to which they always clung was now tangible. Their long-awaited marriage could finally be planned _for real_. Aragorn knew that the waiting would still be hard—after all, the two love birds were scheduled to part ways again in less than a week. But if the wedding did really happen in May as was hoped, they were already half way there. And now they were officially engaged.

"Do you like it?" Aragorn heard the young man ask, to which the girl nodded vigorously. "Are you sure it's your style?"

Fresh tears sprang from Estel's eyes as she again threw her arms around Edennil. " _You're_ my style," she sobbed, laughing amid it all. "I'm so, so happy."

It could not have been more perfect.

Aragorn gave the couple a nod of approval which he assumed would go unseen, but just before he turned away, he noticed the young man look out at him and give a discreet wave which Estel did not see (since her head was still buried in Edennil's shoulder). He mouthed the words _thank you_ , to which Aragon dipped his head. He may have helped in the planning and the practice, but Edennil had executed the proposal all on his own.

Satisfied with the situation, the ranger turned and began to trudge through the deep Michigan snow, feeling a tiny spring in his step (if he is capable of such a thing) at the thought of how his fellow muses would react to the good news. All their planning and scheming ever since the writer's first months in college had finally paid off, and she was going to be married. More important than that, she was going to have a constant companion to help preserve her sanity. No conspiracies would be able to stop her from writing stories now!

Aragorn reflected on the fact that there actually hadn't been much concentrated effort on the part of Sauron to destroy Estel's sanity in the past year—not since she and Edennil became inseparable companions. Had he simply anticipated the futility and hoped that they would break up? Aragorn wasn't sure, but he was glad all the same that Estel was now secure.

After all, Aragorn knew that married couples never have _anything_ occur to test their sanity, so the wedding would no doubt render Dark Lord basically powerless!

…

Snaga 3 never felt comfortable getting a call to the throne room of Barad-dûr, but his unrest was amplified exponentially when he became aware of the others who were called to report at the same time. He could barely make himself look at Snagas 1, 6.023*10^23, and 299,792,458m/s as all four of them tramped gloomily down the dark halls towards their shared destination. If the Dark Lord was thinking about resuming that ridiculous Conspiracies mission from last year, the orc would have to seriously consider defecting. At least an enemy of Sauron would kill him quickly.

Finally, the thoroughly dejected troop arrived in the throne room and knelt humbly before their master. Sauron acknowledged their entrance with a dark and guttural grunt (a very disturbing sound indeed), his expression communicating the seriousness of his intent.

"And now is revealed the foresight I had in sparing your miserable lives," Sauron growled with poorly concealed irritation, causing the orcs to quake where they stood. "I knew that we would soon be in position to resume the operation."

This confirmation of their worst fears made the orcs all sigh inwardly, but they kept up outwardly stoic appearances because they knew their own peril. Still, they wondered what had caused this mission—one they all hated with an exceedingly greatly passion—to be taken off of its indefinite suspension. After all, their attacks had been ineffective ever since Estel began dating Edennil. If they'd had someone to which they could have prayed, the orcs would have been praying that this unfortunate reality would at least have meant the ceasing of their operation forever.

"My lord," Snaga 1 began reluctantly, "what makes your powerful foresight so clearly evident at this time? Has something changed in the wretch's situation which will make our attempts profitable again? Has the young man finally come to his senses and left her?"

The Dark Lord let out a rumbling laugh, one that shook the very foundations of the tower. The Snagas feared for their lives. "Even better," he snarled, his semi-corporal hands balling into fists, one of which he slammed onto the arm rest of his throne (something which was actually very painful with the throne being made of sharp stone, but Sauron pretended not to care). "He's going to marry her."

The orcs were at a loss as to how this helped their cause. They had been decommissioned based on the very fact that Estel was no longer in her troubles alone. Now she would be forever bound to another! Fortunately, the Lord of the Rings could see their confusion, and he answered their questions before they could ask.

"Do you not know all the calamities that marriage brings?" he chuckled to himself. "Once the newness of it all wears off, the struggles of life not only reappear, but they can even amplify, given the right circumstances. Many lose their minds even without the aid of darker forces." Sauron scoffed as he considered his target's pending doom. "These two mortals view their union as a sacred and unbreakable covenant ordained by God Himself to reflect His glory in the Gospel. Whoever heard of such an idea? They must already be on the precipice of insanity!

"And supposing this worthless couple sails smoothly through their first few years," Sauron continued. "There is one kind of creature which will most certainly drive them both to the end of their sanity, a species that they will foolishly embrace of their own free will." Sauron's look of sick glee was almost enough to knock the orcs off their feet, but their curiosity kept them focused wholeheartedly on their master.

"What creatures can cause such fell effects?" inquired Snaga 6.023*10^23 eagerly, his blackened teeth showing in a disgusting sneer.

Sauron again laughed to himself, though this was a deeper, more personal chuckle. "Children," he said simply, grinning wickedly as the orcs looked at each other in confusion. "And they will come in time," he added darkly. "Many will, I should think, and thus there will be many weaknesses of sanity which we can exploit. Prepare yourselves, therefore; we will lay in wait until the situation has shifted back into our favor, and then we will strike. And this time there will be no hiatus until that Thalion Estel—" Sauron spat out the name like it was maggoty bread "—is admitted into an institution."

The final sentence sounded more like a threat against failure than a statement of success, and the orcs all nodded vigorously. "The conspiracies against this pathetic Estel are not over by any means," the Dark Lord concluded confidently, waving to dismiss his minions. "They have only just begun."

…

 **And there you have it. Conspiracies is now complete. But is it? Is it?! I guess I'll find out soon enough. :) I have no promises for a sequel, but I am purposefully leaving the door open; I have had tremendous fun writing this.**

 **But on a more personal note, I want to again thank everyone for following along with my crazy life as so many things have happened, some being conspiracies and some being the inability to update. Sometimes those two things have strangely coincided. ;)**

 **I have no intention of forever abandoning my status as a fanfiction writer, married or single. I will probably remain too busy to write as I continue to work 60+ hours and week and plan my wedding *screams with excitement*, but my hope is that after I move to Michigan *screams with an unidentified emotion*, I will find a job that gives me solid hours without over-burdening me. I mean, who wants to work all that overtime if they have a super handsome husband?! :) I already have some ideas in my mind for stories, so hopefully I'll get those out in the coming year.**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**


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